A Saving Grace
by channelra
Summary: Grace Trevelyan-Grey has treated hurt and sick children for years, but none has affected her like the hurt, scared boy that came into her ER one cool fall day. This is the story of Christian Grey through Grace's eyes.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: This story again is inspired by the the story 'Becoming Fifty Shades' by KoolJack1. It will follow some of the same events in this wonderful story so I recommend reading that one as well.**

**This is the story of how Grace Trevelyan-Grey met Christian and how he became her son. **

** I do not own Fifty Shades of Grey or any of the characters.**

**Chapter 1: A case like no other**

Nothing could have prepared me for this. No amount of medical training, none of my past experiences working in this hospital, none of my work with The Wayne County Department of Children and Family Services could have prepared me for this case...

I pride myself on being a very compassionate physician- I am a pediatrician after all- but more so on being a professional, no nonsense physician. I have to keep some sort of emotional distance or else I would never be able to survive working with the cases I see at DMC. This is where all of the child abuse cases come and I have seen my share of horrors. Children, babies, all so sweet and innocent, hurt beyond imagination. My job is to treat them, help heal their physical wounds and aid the system in ensuring that these children are cared for properly. I occasionally have to aid in legal proceedings involving some of these cases, testify to the injuries I treat and give my professional opinion on what I have seen. So when my pager went off earlier this afternoon I set down my book and stretched my tired limbs and proceeded to the ER. My too short break from a grueling 24 hour call shift was officially over. Pulling my hair back off my face and putting on my white lab coat, I take a deep breath and pull back the curtain to exam room 5, no nonsense, and professional, emotional distance.

"_Dr. Trevelyan…" _Dana, the ER nurse on duty, starts to brief me but I hear nothing. All I can focus on is the small, terrified child in front of me, thrashing and crying on the bed. I am momentarily frozen in place, unable to see beyond the beautiful, scared baby in front of me.

_**Snap to it Grace! **_The voice inside my head yells and in an instant clarity comes back to me.

"_We found him barely conscious, severely dehydrated and malnourished. He was curled up shivering next to the body of his dead mother, we presume. Looks to be about 3 years old, maybe younger…doesn't seem to talk."_ The responding EMT's continue to fill me in on his vitals and other information.

The boy is shaking and crying, swinging his arms at anyone who comes near him. He is beyond terrified.

"_Thank you. Now if you would all please back away from….do we know his name?" _I ask.

"_No Doctor. We know nothing about him, the anonymous call just said that there was a dead woman in the apartment, nothing about a child", _the officer who brought him in tells me.

The boy starts thrashing again and starts looking around frantically for anyone he recognizes, his mother maybe? His eyes meet mine for a second and I see the fear in his wide, hollow grey eyes. I smile at him and for a second it seems he calms down.

"_Sshhh, its OK my baby. No one is going to hurt you"_, I say in a whispering, soothing voice.

"_It's OK. You are safe baby. My name is Doctor Grace and I am here to help you."_

I start to walk closer to the bed, never breaking eye contact, reassuring him that everything will be alright. His beautiful, scared grey eyes seem to say that he wants to believe and trust me.

"_I am here to help you baby. Can I look at you"_ I inch closer slowly. I am talking to him like I talk to my son Elliot when he is upset and crying. It seems to be working as he is staring at me and no longer thrashing about.

"_I just want to look at you and see you are feeling, sweetheart. Will you let me see where you are hurt?" _

He doesn't move. He just stares at me terrified, the fear increasing with each step I take towards him.

"_Dr. Trevelyan, he hasn't let anyone near him"_, Dana tells me.

I reach the edge of the bed and reach out to touch his shoulder and his tiny body starts convulsing and he begins screaming…heart wrenching, primal screams like I have never heard before. His little body is thrashing about on the gurney, fighting to be free of the restraints holding him in place.

"_Why is he restrained?"_ I yell, louder and angrier than I mean to.

"_Doctor, we had to. He wouldn't let anyone near him. It took two officers and both of us to get him to the ambulance. He fought us like I have never seen"_ says one of the paramedics standing behind me.

I back away but he is still screaming uncontrollably, and I can see the panic and fear in his eyes. It's not just him though that is terrified, I see the fear in the eyes of the medical staff around me, and none of us has seen a child this terrified before. It is utterly heartbreaking and again, I am caught off guard for a brief moment.

I shake my head to snap out of it. _"Dana lets get him sedated, NOW! And get an IV started, saline and electrolytes. I want blood work done, a full screen, to test for drugs in his system as well." _I have never had to sedate a child like this before, just to do a physical exam and the thought makes my stomach turn.

I look at the two EMT's and nod as they move to the other side of the bed and help to restrain him. We hold his legs and small body still under the bed sheet we quickly place over him. I can't have anyone hold his limbs as I have yet to examine the extent of his injuries, and if anything is broken we could do more damage. Dana quickly administers a shot of midazolam and I quietly try to soothe him as the sedative takes over. I keep my eyes fixed on his as he succumbs to the medicine, making sure that he sees me comforting him as he drifts out of consciousness. I hold his little body as best I can, talking and soothing him. He looks at me as his eyes close, and I swear I see a spark of hope and trust in them.

Once his body has calmed and he is unconscious it is all business and I efficiently begin my exam. Dana gently cuts away his tattered, filthy clothes. He is wearing a pair of dirty pajamas, at least two sizes too small and practically threadbare. They smell of stale cigarette smoke and filth and I wonder to myself when and if they have ever been laundered. As is protocol, all of his belongings, the dingy pajamas, are placed in a sterile bag, evidence for any future criminal abuse case. I start to inventory the evident signs of abuse and neglect I find. My stomach turns as I chart the torture that this poor angel has endured in his short life. He is beyond malnourished. He is emaciated, his little ribs protruding from his pale skin and his stomach swollen. He is also severely dehydrated, beyond what I had originally thought.

There are scars and bruises covering his body. His limbs are covered with tell-tale signs of physical trauma; the all too obvious markings of a belt and buckle and bruises from hands and fists. He has a contusion on the back of his head and I order a CT scan to make sure there is no internal trauma. Thankfully, there are no broken bones or evidence of prior orthopedic injury. The most disturbing injuries, the ones that bring tears to my eyes, are the small round burns on his chest and back. I fight back tears as I chart them. Sixteen in all some healed and now just scars; but most are fresh, only a few days old at most.

"_How could anyone do this to a child?" _Dana asks and as I glance over to her she has tears in her eyes.

We take extra care in cleaning and treating his burns, hoping that in his sedated state, he cannot feel what we are doing. He has endured enough pain at someone else's hands and I don't want to cause even the slightest bit more.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: Thank you so much to Kooljack1 for the inspiration. This story will soon start to mirror some of Christians defining moments, albeit through Grace's eyes. Thank you also to my best friend for her advice and encouragement and to those of you who have read and are following this journey. Please comment and let me know your thoughts.**

**I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the characters.**

**Chapter 2: No one to love**

After an hour of examining and documenting the damage to this poor child, I am finished. Leaving Dana and the ER nurses with orders to maintain IV fluids, schedule a head CT, and keep the boy sedated for the time being, I walk out of the ER making sure they know to page me immediately with even the slightest change. I head to the waiting room in search of the police officers who were with him when he was brought in, hoping that they have some information on who this child is.

"_Officer Grady"_, I call to the patrol man sitting at the triage desk.

"_Dr. Trevelyan, how is the little boy? Has he calmed down?"_ he asks with concern in his eyes.

"_Patrick, we had to sedate him. He is sleeping now. He is on IV fluids for the dehydration and I have done a thorough physical, documenting his injuries. I will have the report completed by tomorrow morning for you."_

"_Thank you, Doctor."_

"_Is his family in the waiting area? I need to discuss a course of treatment with them. He will not be ready to go home for some…."_ The officer cuts me off.

"_Dr. Trevelyan, we haven't located any family. We still haven't identified the woman we found him with. We have nothing."_

"_What do you mean we have nothing? WE have a sick, hurt, abused baby lying near death in the ER right now!"_ I shout at Officer Grady, my tone harsh and full of disbelief.

"_Grace, I didn't mean it like that. I am working to find any information I can. We know the person renting the apartment…a low life dealer and pimp named Darren. I assume he knows the deceased woman. We have patrol out looking for him. Hopefully he will shed some light on who this little boy is, who he belongs to."_

"_Patrick, please keep me informed. I don't want him to wake up alone. Did he have anything with him when you found him… anything at all? I would like for him to have something familiar when we wake him up."_

"_I will be going back to the scene in a little bit", _he tells me,

"_I will look for something, but don't hold out much hope Grace. It was a crack den, not a home; certainly not a place for a child." _

"_Thank you Patrick."_ I smile a tired smile as I walk back to the ER to start my report.

As I sit down behind the nurse's station my tears let loose. I think about the pain that this poor child has endured in his short life and my anger at how unfair life is takes over.

_I had always wanted to be a mother, ever since I could remember. I would spend hours everyday as a child playing 'mommy' with my baby dolls. I wanted a large family, with children running and playing around me. When I met Carrick it seemed like I was going to live my dream. A perfect couple, that's what everyone said; a lawyer and a doctor, an All-American family in the making._

_When we married, everyone assumed children would soon follow. One year turned into two, and soon three, then four. We used every excuse in the book; wanting to get used to being married and living together, career demands, etc. But the strain of not getting pregnant was starting to show, especially as we were forced to watch our friends welcome children into the world. We had all the tests, tried every procedure, but still we couldn't conceive…__**I**__ couldn't conceive. __**I**__ was unable to get pregnant. Scarring from severe endometriosis had made it impossible for me to have children. _

_I was devastated. Everything in my life had been focused around being a mother. It's all I ever wanted to be. I was a pediatrician and spent my career helping children, preparing to be the best mother I could be…..and now it would never happen for me. _

_Carrick could see the devastation in my eyes, the feeling of failure and desolation. I had failed him and us. It almost destroyed us._

_Adoption was always brought up in the abstract, but I always thought of it as a 'last resort'. I always believed that I would have my own children. But, here I was. I had reached that point where it was certain that my only way to become a mother was through adoption._

_Carrick and I started the process of applying with the state of Michigan and private agencies to become adoptive parents. We went through the countless background checks, home visits, and mental evaluations with no problems. Through all of that I worked here, seeing firsthand the pain and abuse inflicted on innocent children by monsters disguised as parents. How? How could people do these unspeakable things to innocent babies and continue to be parents? How could they have children when __**I**__ couldn't? __**It wasn't fair!**_

_I found myself becoming immersed in these cases. I worked harder for these children, these poor babies, obsessing over the cruelty and unfairness in this world. _

_Carrick had started to see this too. He had been appointed as a special prosecutor for the Child Advocacy Department and we both became driven to help these small, innocent victims, determined to make a difference. It started to consume us both, and made the decision to adopt not a forced alternative because of my medical history, but a conscious choice._

My buzzing pager wakes me from my somber daydream. It's Carrick. I pick up the phone and call home.

"_Hi sweetheart, how is my favorite doctor? Do you have a minute to talk?_" my darling husband asks. I smile at the sound of his voice.

"_Hi honey. I am good, just tired is all. How are you and Elliot?"_

Elliot is our six year old son. We adopted him about two years ago after hearing his story on the television news.

_We had been waiting and hoping to adopt a newborn, or even an older infant, but the wait for a baby was a long one and we were starting to get discouraged again. We were laying in bed one night watching TV and mulling over the conversation we had had with the social worker. Maybe we should look at adopting an older child, a toddler. That wouldn't be so bad. We wanted to be parents after all and we could adopt an older child with no problem. We were already approved by the state so all we would need to do is bond with a child and make the choice. _

_The late night news came on and the picture of a young boy was on the screen. _

'_**The parents died in a horrific accident nearly two weeks ago….from out of state…no surviving family that anyone could find…'**_

_The news story faded into the background as I stared at the picture on the screen. He had sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. This child was obviously loved, a child who didn't deserve to be placed into the child welfare system. I looked at Carrick with wide eyes and he knew. _

_We contacted the number on the screen the next morning, and nine weeks later Elliot Trevelyan-Grey came home. My life was finally complete._

"_He is sound asleep Grace, missing mommy, but I managed"_, Carrick says with a teasing tone.

"_Oh, good. Kiss him and tell him I love him dearly. I hope to be home before he wakes, but I have a pretty disturbing case to see to first. In fact, I bet this will land on your desk in the near future. I will fill you in when I get home"_, I tell him.

"_OK. Hurry home, we miss you mommy."_

"_Bye, Cary. I love you both."_

And with that, I am left to my thoughts of Baby Boy Doe and my tears start falling again.


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: Thank you all again for the favorites and follows and reviews. I am so glad that people are enjoying this.**

**Again, I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the character.**

**Chapter 3: To comfort and protect **

I can't bring myself to leave the hospital. My call shift ended hours ago, my rounds are done and I have updated all of my patient charts. I am physically exhausted and emotionally spent. Yet, I cannot bring myself to walk out. Something is telling me that I need to be here, just in case.

I have checked on the little boy over the course of the evening and have reminded the night shift nurses to contact me with even the slightest bit of news. He is stable, still sedated, and his body is tolerating the medicine and fluid IVs. Dr. Shah is covering the ER tonight and I have briefed him on the case. He is a more than capable pediatrician, a respected colleague, and someone whom I have complete faith in. Still, however, I can't shake this feeling that I need to be here, for him.

Finally, at 12:30am I force myself to leave. I haven't seen Carrick or Elliot since I was called in to work nearly 26 hours ago. Despite my lingering uneasiness about leaving, I drive home to my husband and son.

Our home is quiet as I tiptoe upstairs, eager to crawl into bed and rest my weary mind and body. I can't remember when, or what, I last ate, but right now sleep is all my body wants. The stress of the day has taken its toll for sure and every muscle in my neck and shoulders is crying out in pain.

As I peek into my son's room to check on him, I am mesmerized by his beautiful face. He is sleeping so peacefully, curled up around his favorite stuffed animal, a big ugly gorilla, and he is snoring ever so faintly. He looks like and angel when he sleeps, although I know he probably put Carrick through his paces before bedtime tonight. I smile to myself; Elliot is 100% boy, so active and full of life, always looking for the next big adventure around every corner. He is inquisitive, imaginative and full of mischief. I can't recall how many times Linda, his nanny has found snails in his pockets or frogs in his bathtub. His energy and vitality amazes me every day. I am so fortunate to have him as my son.

Suddenly a feeling of grief comes over me, and I feel the tears coming back to my eyes. Here my son lies sleeping, looking so content, not a care or worry in the world. He has parents that adore him and would move heaven and earth to protect him and give him his heart's desire. He doesn't want for anything and is surrounded by unconditional love; and only a few miles away another little boy lies clinging to life completely alone. No one is there holding him, comforting him. No one is crying for him and praying for him to recover. My tears flow down my cheeks as I sit at the edge of Elliot's bed overcome by these feeling of utter heart wrenching sadness.

I have no idea how long I have been sitting here crying when I feel Carrick's arms around me.

"_Grace, sweetheart, are you OK?'_ he whispers so as not to wake Elliot.

I look at him and start to cry even harder as he gently pulls me from Elliot's room and into the hall.

"_He is so alone Carrick. We don't even know his name. He has no one. Nobody is there to hold him"_, I weep into my husband's chest.

"_He is so sick and no one cares. The burns, the scars, what he has been through, and no one is there protecting him."_ I am practically hyperventilating from crying and trying to talk.

"_You should be there for him Grace"_ is all he says to me and my tears stop. I look up at him with my teary eyes and he nods his head, telling me he understands.

"_Go back there. He can't be alone. I will be fine with Elliot and Linda will be here in the morning. Go Dr. Trevelyan, it would be wrong if you didn't."_ He smiles slightly as he kisses away my tears.

"_Thank you Cary"_ is all a can manage to say.

Within the hour I am back at the hospital and have taken up residence in ER room 5. I have gotten updates from the nurses assigned to Baby Boy Doe as he is now being called, and I have confirmed with Dr. Shah what our next steps should be with regard to his care. He will be moved to the Pediatric Special Care Unit in the morning. It's not quite an ICU, but he will be attended to by a team of doctors specially trained in abuse cases. A CT scan is scheduled for 8am and nutritionists consult immediately following. Once all of the "business" has been addressed, I ask the charge nurse for a pillow and blanket and I make my way to the little boys bedside.

Hoping that he can hear me, I begin to talk to him in a soothing voice. I tell him about myself, Carrick, and Elliot. I reassure him that he is safe and that I am here to protect him and make him feel better. I tell him that he will soon be strong and healthy and that he will able to run and play and be a kid. I promise him that I will never let anyone hurt him again. Throughout the night, I sit by his side talking to him and softly singing him lullabies, just so he hears the voice of someone comforting him. I only stop when the nurses come in to check his vitals and change his IVs. As I drift off to sleep, I reassure him again that he is safe and that no one will ever hurt him again. I rub his tear stained cheeks and kiss his forehead, I smooth his matted copper colored hair, taking care to not touch the bruises to his skull. I hold his tiny hand in mine and tell him that he is loved. As I say goodnight and gently squeeze his hand, I feel his fingers tighten slightly around mine.


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: Thank you, thank you. That is all I can say!**

**Again, I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the characters.**

**Chaper 4: Maternal instincts**

I wake with a start, not realizing where I am for a second. I rub my eyes and focus on the little boy lying in the bed next to where I am sitting. He is moving his head from side to side and I see tears streaming down the side of his precious face. I know he is not awake; we are keeping him sedated until after the CT scan this morning. He must be dreaming- although it looks more like a nightmare than a dream. Soft, guttural moans escape his mouth and I feel my heart breaking for his little lost soul.

"_Shhh, sweetheart, I am here. You are safe. Relax little one. It's OK"_, I whisper over and over, stroking his cheek until he calms again.

It's 7:15 in the morning and I have spent the better part of the past six hours dozing in the bed side chair while keeping vigil over Baby Boy Doe. I shake my head, needing to wake up a little. Fortunately, I have a rare day off today, as is usually the case after a 48 hour ER call shift; but I know that I will not be relaxing at home. Baby Boy Doe has a CT scan in less than an hour and I intend to be with him for that and any other tests required today. I have already decided that I will be involved in every aspect of his recovery as his physician, and I refuse to let him be alone, that is unless his family is found. Quickly I get up and make my way to the nurse's station for a morning update. The shift change at 6am means that Dana is back and she just looks up and hands me his chart, knowing full well from the night nurses that I spent the night at his bedside.

"_Dr. Trevelyan, might I suggest a cup of coffee and maybe something from the cafeteria?"_ She gives me one of those looks like she knows I am not concerned with my own needs right now. _"I will go grab you something."_

"_Thank you Dana. Just a muffin and coffee, black please."_

She shuffles off mumbling something to herself.

I'm really not fond of coffee, not like Carrick is, but I know I need a caffeine boost and it seems like a strong brew will help jump start my system; and hopefully the warmth from a steaming hot cup of coffee will help with the chill I feel to my core.

While Dana is grabbing me a quick breakfast, I run to the staff lounge to brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face. I catch sight of my tired self in the mirror. I look like hell! I haven't slept much in the past three days and dark circles ring my eyes. My eyelids are red and swollen, no doubt from the lack of sleep and amount of tears I have cried since yesterday. At least I showered last night before coming back here I think to myself as I pull my hair back into a ponytail and make my way back to the ER.

I have fifteen minutes before the transport team will be here to take the little boy to radiology. I pick up the phone behind the nurses station and call home to say good morning to my husband and son.

"_Good morning Dr. Trevelyan"_, Linda answers with a cheerful voice. _"Let me get Mr. Grey for you."_

"_Good morning sweetheart. How are you and how is the little boy?"_ Carrick's voice is laced with concern. He knows that I take special interest in these cases, but I have never been so emotional before. Usually my concern is for making sure that the medical evidence is clear cut and that I do my professional best to help the children in my care. But this… this one is different. My level of concern is more personal than before. It's primal, instinctual….._**maternal**_. I feel the need to protect and nurture this boy and Carrick recognized that difference in my behavior last night.

"_He is still sedated, but I sat with him all night. I couldn't leave him"_, I say quietly. _"I just don't want him to be alone."_ I hear my voice crack a little bit.

"_How is Elliot? Is he ready for school?"_ I quickly ask to change the topic, wanting to discuss a happy subject, my mischievous kindergartner.

"_He is indeed"_, Carrick laughs. _"Linda is trying to get his coat and hat on him as we speak. Would you like to talk to him?"_

"_Mornin' mom. Tell Missus Andrews I don't need a hat. I have a hood"_, Elliot whines into the phone.

"_Good morning my big, silly boy"_, I laugh. _"Listen to Mrs. Andrews please. I don't want you getting sick and it is cold outside. Remember gloves too please."_

"_MOM…no fair"_, he pouts.

"_It's just because I love you Elliot and I want you to be healthy. Please don't argue with mommy. I love you and I will be home when you get done with school. Have a great day and learn a lot."_

"_OK mom, love you too"_, he yells as he hands the phone back to Carrick.

"_Grace, are you sure you are OK? Can I bring you anything or do anything to help?"_, he asks when he gets back on the phone.

"_I will be fine dear. I am just tired and it's making me emotional"_, I say, trying to convince myself that it's just exhaustion making me feel this way.

"_I am going to look into this case and see what I can find out today. I have never seen you like this over a case and I think having some answers may help you feel better"_, he tells me.

"_Thank you Cary. Please let me know. I am going up to radiology with him now. I will check in with you later on. I love you"_, and with that I hang up and rush to catch up with the aides transporting the boy to radiology.

Forty minutes drags on like forty hours while he is in the CT and subsequent X-ray. There is a little area of bleeding at the back of his head and I ordered the X-ray to check for any fractures, new or otherwise. It makes my stomach sick to think about the trauma to his little body. The pediatric radiologist confirms my suspicions. He has a small fracture where the swelling is and there is evidence of past fractures near where his skull bones fuse. The fact that the 'soft spots' have fully fused suggests that he is older than we think and the radiologist ages him at around four years old. He recommends that we keep him sedated for the time being, given his behavior when he was brought in, and that we only wake him for short intervals. The pain to his head will be excruciating and the less movement, the better for him to heal. He schedules a follow-up scan for the next evening to make sure the bleeding is gone.

"_Dr. Trevelyan, my concern beyond the skull fracture is his skeletal development. If he is indeed around the age of four, his musculo-skeletal system is severely underdeveloped. I am guessing that this is due to his continued malnourishment"_, he states in a matter-of-fact tone.

"_I agree, and I have ordered a full nutrition consult this morning."_

"_With proper care, he is young enough that he may catch up physiologically during puberty, but its not likely that he will receive the level of committed care in the state system"_, he continues.

I blanch at the thought of this boy becoming a ward of the state and never having the chance he deserves. _"Thank you for the information, Doctor, I will note it on my report."_ I swallow the lump in my throat and blink back tears as I follow his gurney to the pediatric wing.

As I go over his case with the charge nurse on the pediatric floor, my pager buzzes. It's Dana in the ER. I excuse myself and dial the ER extension.

"_Dr. Trevelyan, Officer Grady is here to speak with you. Are you available?"_

"_Please send him up to the 7__th__ floor, room 718"_, I tell her. Hopefully Patrick has some information on whom this boy belongs to.

I look around the room as I wait for Patrick to meet me. It is painted a pale turquoise blue with bright, colorful fish swimming across the walls. The curtains covering the glass wall facing the nurses' station have seashells and starfish on them, all in bright colors. Although it is still a hospital room, it is much brighter than the ER room he was in earlier. He will be woken up in about two hours and I am glad it will be in a room with bright colors and a children's mural.

"_Dr. Trevelyan",_ Patrick calls to me from the hallway, _"I have something for the little boy. My partner said he was holding this with a death grip when we took him out of the apartment. He had forgotten that he put it in his pocket yesterday."_

He hands me a small red matchbox car.

"_It's all we could find in the apartment, Grace."_ His voice is heavy with sadness.

"_The paramedics said that there was a blue child's' blanket as well, but it was draped over the deceased woman. I haven't been to the ME's office yet to see if it's salvageable."_

"_Thank you Patrick. I will make sure he gets his car back when he wakes"_, I say, putting the tiny car into my coat pocket.

"_Have you made any headway on her identity?"_ I ask, hoping that if they have identified the woman that we can find out who this little boy is.

Officer Grady walks toward the waiting area, _"Why don't we go sit down Grace and I will fill you in."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter5: The Decision**

a/n: Thank you all again for your reviews and for following this story. All of the great feedback makes me want to write more!

again...I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the characters.

Carrick and I are sitting in his hospital room in silence. I can't find the words to describe the shock, anger, and disgust I feel right now towards everyone in this child welfare system, including myself. We have all failed miserably at protecting this child and his mother. All of the policies, procedures, and programs that this state has in place, yet NO ONE even knew about this little boy and the horrors that he has endured for the four short years he has been alive. I don't have any tears left to cry right now. I have cried nonstop for the past two hours, everything from uncontrollable sobs of despair to quiet tears of grief for Ella Elizabeth Daniels and her baby boy. My earlier conversation with Officer Grady and Carrick spins around in my head, making the dull ache start to pound.

_Ella Elizabeth Daniels was 23 years old. She was from Grosse Pointe, the only child of William and Sandra Daniels, born February 12, 1964. She was the salutatorian of her high school graduating class and had attended Michigan State on a scholarship. She was studying music and education. It sounds like she was leading a normal teenage life, and beginning her journey into adulthood. Her parents were killed in a car crash on January 3, 1982 on their way back from dropping Ella off on campus after Christmas break. Shortly after their death, Ella left school, just a few weeks into her second semester of her freshman year. She was arrested in Detroit for shoplifting in July 1982, five months after leaving school. Her mug shot shows a scared young girl, obviously under the influence of drugs and in need of help. _

_She was given probation by the courts and admitted into a 30 day drug rehabilitation program. She quit the rehab program and disappeared onto the streets of Detroit until January 1983 when she was arrested for prostitution and possession of crack cocaine. She was four months pregnant at the time of her arrest. She was placed into a court ordered 90 day inpatient program at the Wayne County Women's Facility and then another three months of outpatient care. _

_She gave birth to a baby boy on June 18, 1983 in this very hospital. I very well could have seen her son in rounds. He weighed 7 lbs. 4 oz. and was 22 inches long at birth and was healthy. There were no medical concerns about her drug use during her pregnancy and child welfare was not called. His birth certificate does not list a father, only her. She named her little boy Christian._

_There was no other information after that. No post-natal follow-ups, no child welfare visits, no probation reports. Nothing._

_There are no medical records for the baby either. No well baby visits, no immunization records, ER visits. Again, nothing. It's like both mother and child walked out of this hospital in June 1983 and disappeared into a life of pain and suffering._

Carrick was at the police station this morning when Ella's 'boyfriend' was brought in for questioning. He says that the guy swore up and down that he had nothing to do with her death, saying that it was an overdose and that he hadn't been there for three or four days and when he finally did go to check on her she was already dead. He tried telling the police that he didn't know that she had a child, but got caught in that lie quickly.

Patrick said that most likely this guy, Darren, was her pimp and dealer; and that he let her and the child stay at the apartment so he could keep her under his control. By all accounts, he is not a very nice person and the abuse inflicted on Ella and her son was most likely a result of his drug and alcohol enhanced temper.

Carrick said that he swore up and down that he is not the boy's father and said he would submit to a blood test to prove that.

_"The little shit ain't mine and means nothing to me...surprised he survived this long with that crack whore…good riddance to them both. The kid was bad for business and all it did was cry….a damn waste of my time."_

That was his official statement regarding little Christian.

I could see Carrick stiffen in anger when Patrick told us that. No child was a waste of time and no child deserved to be told that.

The only shade of anything positive in the information from the police was that they found some proof that Ella did try to care for her son. In one corner of the filthy living room was a box that held some of her belongings. In the box were photos of her parents and her as a child and teenager. There were also some baby pictures of her son, taken in the hospital after his birth, and a lock of his baby fine hair. There were some scribbled drawings on the box and top. On the dingy wall, written in crayon, were written the letters of the alphabet, the numbers 1 through 10, and the name 'Christian' in unsteady childlike writing.

Maybe his mother did love him but just couldn't care for him. Maybe she tried but was too far gone with drugs to do anything to help him and herself. Maybe if someone had kept track of her things would be different than they are. Maybe. No one will ever know the truth, but I want to believe that she loved him and tried to the best she could, even if it wasn't enough.

A soft rustling of the blankets startles me from my thoughts.

"_Oh, Carrick, he's awake"_ I whisper. I don't want to scare him as he adjusts to waking up.

"_Hello, sweetheart" _I say quietly in the same soothing voice I have talked to him in all night.

He looks confused and terrified. I reach out to him and he recoils, his wide eyes staring at the bed sheets. I hand him his little car. He blinks at me and slowly takes the car from my outstretched hand. He hugs and kisses it and holds it to his cheek.

"_Christian?"_

He looks surprised to hear his name, like he's not used to being called by his given name.

"_My name is Grace",_ I say with a slight smile. I desperately want to him and reassure him that he is safe, but given the terrified look on his face I just stand in place and talk to him.

"_Do you know where you are? You are in a hospital, you're very sick, but I am a doctor and I'm going to make you better",_ I tell him, inching closer.

I can see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes and with each step closer I take to him, the primal instincts to run and hide become more evident. His breathing is becoming strained and he is starting to shake and cry. Seeing him this frightened brings me to tears.

"_It's OK, sweetheart. I am not going to hurt you. I promise you Christian"_, I manage to say in a hoarse whisper, trying not to cry. Carrick is beside me, his hand at my waist and when I look up at him his eyes are welling with tears. He looks briefly down at me with the saddest eyes and has to turn and walk out. Seeing the fear in Christian's eyes is too much for him.

"_Christian, you are safe now. No one is going to hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you._

_Is this your car? It looks very nice and I bet you love it very much."_

He nods his head slightly, looking at the red car clutched tightly in his hands.

"_Did you miss your car? I know it missed you, but now it's back with you. Your car isn't hurt; it's safe now, just like you."_

He just nods his head and stares at his toy car.

"_So many people have been worried about you, but things are going to be better soon and you will feel better soon too. I promise."_

He is looking around the room confused and I wish I could reassure him and myself that what I am saying is true.

The more he wakes up, the more scared he becomes and soon he is starting to cry harder and fight in the bed. He is kicking and flailing his tiny arms and I stand here helpless, wanting just to hold him close to me and cry with him until he feels safe. I know I can't do that though, and my only option is to have him put back under sedation. I call for a nurse to come help me.

"_Hello, sweetheart"_ she says as she quickly adds the sedative to his IV. _"I need to run a few more tests, so back to sleep you go."_

Thankfully the medicine works quickly and he is calmed and back to sleep.

I leave Christian's side once I know he is fully asleep and go to find Carrick. He is sitting in the waiting area running his hands through his hair like he always does when he is upset or nervous. He looks up at me and I know what he is thinking immediately. It's the same thing that has been running through my mind since last night. With tears in our eyes we both nod our heads yes. This poor sweet boy will not be lost again to the system that failed him once.

Carrick stands up and pulls me into his arms, holding me as my tears of sadness change to tears of resolve,

"_I will make the calls today, you just make him healthy"_, he says and the decision is made. Christian will not be alone ever again. He will have me and Carrick to love him from this moment on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: When?**

**a/n: Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. I know that this story has been pretty sad so far, but things will get better, I promise. It will start to follow Kooljack1's story a little more now, with some other happy moments as well. Again, thanks for reading and enjoy!**

**I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the characters, this is all for fun!**

The doctor in me wants answers. The mother in me NEEDS answers. And, right now, no one is giving me the answers that I want. It has been three days since Carrick and I started inquiring on what we need to do to make Christian our son, and getting the social worker assigned to his case to move is nearly impossible. You would think I am asking to adopt Prince William or Harry with the amount of red tape involved. It really is a simple equation when you think about it:

**1 orphaned child in need of home + 2 loving parents begging to make him their son = one less child in the Wayne County child welfare system**

However apparently, the system isn't used to people begging to take a child off of their hands immediately, so it has created road blocks at every turn.

Carrick and I want the best for our children, and in our minds Christian is our child. He has been my son since I first laid eyes on him four days ago, and I will do everything in my power to give him the world. Right now, giving him the world means giving him the best medical care possible so I have arranged for evaluations with a psychiatrist, neurologist, and speech pathologist to make sure that Christian's lack of speech is not caused by a physiological problem, but is a mental defense mechanism to the trauma he has endured. In addition, I have arranged for a dental evaluation and a full nutrition consult to make sure my son has the best chances for physical recovery. Of course, the State of Michigan does not consider this standard care for a 'ward of the state' and is refusing to approve these additional measures. Carrick and I have offered to cover the cost ourselves, so as not to cause problems or undue paperwork, but even that doesn't work. The social worker must follow standard state procedure and deny the tests.

Thankfully, I have a good working relationship with most of the doctors and specialists I have arranged, and they are willing to directly bill us and not go through the state for reimbursement. We just have to keep the records of these appointments separate from his state medical records. So Christian Daniels, case # 1988-64391B, has 'standard state provided care', and Christian Trevelyan-Grey has the best care available. As soon as the adoption is final we will merge the two records, but for right now I am doing what I must do to ensure that my son receives the best medical treatment, even if it means circumventing standard child welfare policy.

What is even more aggravating is the waiting process. When we adopted Elliot we were new to the system and we were unfamiliar with the steps involved. Not to mention, we were new parents-to-be and waiting the nine weeks to finish the paperwork allowed us the time to prepare our home…and ourselves…for his arrival. He also didn't have the issues that Christian has. Elliot was roughly the same age, but he wasn't abused or traumatized like Christian. Yes, he had lost his parents, but he grieved and adjusted as expected, and adapted to his new home fairly easily. I also wasn't involved from the very beginning so the anxiety on my part didn't play into the mix.

With Christian it's different. I have seen first hand the physical damage and have been treating his injuries since he was brought into the ER. I have also witnessed some of the emotional wreckage and I fear what could happen once he is out of the hospital, before he is officially my child. I shudder at the thought of someone taking him away as I recall the conversation I had in his room earlier.

_"You've already been cleared for the adoption, but we have to wait to be sure no living family wants to claim him,"_ Margaret the social worker assigned to him tells me.

"_If he does have family, what if they are no better?" _I ask_. "What if they are just as bad if not worse than where he came from?" _ I can't bear to think that he could be forced to go back to a situation like where he came from, because of a physical bond of blood.

"_His mother didn't leave any indication that there was any other family, the only reason we knew his name was because of the writing on the wall,"_ I plead. Please don't let anyone come forward to take him from me is what I want to say.

"_Even if someone does come forward, we will do extensive background checks, and follow up visits,"_ Margaret replies, as if that will ease my fears.

He is here in the hospital now, battered and damaged because the system lost track of him when he was born. Does she think she is calming my nerves by telling me the state will do 'extensive' background checks? Carrick and I could do a more thorough job than the state with our eyes closed. I just look at her with a mixture of disgust and disbelief that she thinks her response will calm my anxiety. She must know how I feel because she doesn't reply and we sit in silence for a few minutes.

"_Until the waiting period is over? Where does he go?"_ I ask, fearful of the answer. Three months is such a long time to wait and I can't bear to think of him in a state home, not getting the love and nurturing he needs, not being with us.

"_We have a foster home nearby to place him at for the time being, and if no one claims him, he will be yours to adopt,"_ she says like its no big deal.

This is the part I can't get my head around. Carrick and I are approved for the adoption, we want him to be home with us immediately, and yet we have to wait….three months no less, while Christian lives in a temporary home with people who don't want to be his family. I ask Margaret about our rights to visit and be involved with his every day care during this waiting period. I think I have surprised her with this question as she isn't sure how to answer. She tells me she will 'look into it' and assures me that we will be able to have regularly scheduled visits with Christian often, of course around his foster family's schedule.

Thankfully, I have the willpower to bite my tongue and just smile. There is NO way that I will allow anyone else to make decisions about Christian's well being going forward. He is MY child, in my heart I know this; and I will be there for him always, not just when it's convenient for his temporary caregivers. I just hope that this foster family is up to snuff; it will not go over well with Carrick if he doesn't find them acceptable.

We sat down with Elliot last night and told him about his new brother. I know that we should have waited, until we are sure that no one is going to take him away, but Elliot has been asking for a little brother since his friend Matthew's mother had a baby a few months ago. Carrick and I sat down and explained that Christian isn't a baby brother, but that he is younger and smaller than Elliot, and that we are going to need Elliot to be gentle with him. I didn't want to get into his history, first of all Elliot wouldn't understand and secondly, I don't want him to hear about his brother's suffering. We explained the best we could in six year old terms, that Christian was sick when he came to the hospital, but that he is getting better every day and that soon enough he will be able to come home to us.

Elliot was so excited, like we are giving him the moon and sun and stars all at once.

"_I can teach him to play soccer, and baseball. And how to catch frogs, and snails. We can go to the park, and ride bikes, and be bestest of friends,"_ he kept saying while jumping up and down and running through the house.

"_Can we a share a room mom….pleeeeease?"_ he asked with the biggest smile I have ever seen.

"_I promise to be the best big brother ever. I won't let anyone pick on him and I won't get mad if he breaks my stuff like Matt does. Thank you mom and dad. This is better than Christmas and my birthday."_

It was an hour of questions after that about what he looks like, what his favorite toys are, how long it will be before he comes home. I just kept telling him soon, and wishing that my answer was right, wishing that no one else claims him and that Christian will be home with us soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Baby steps and Milestones**

**a/n: Sorry it has been a couple of days since the last update. Just to answer a question that has been asked by a few people, this story will loosely follow some of the chapters of "Becoming Fifty Shades' fan fiction, but not verbatim. There will be quite a bit more coming, as Grace and Carrick realize the extent of Christian's issues. Don't forget, we have a move to Seattle in the future as well! Thank you all again for your reviews and opinions, they keep me motivated to broaden and continue the story,**

**Again, I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the characters.**

It has been five weeks since Christian came into our lives, five heartbreaking, agonizing, wonderful weeks; full of the highest highs and lowest lows. Physically my son is getting stronger by the day. His skull fracture has healed completely and there is no evidence of any type of brain trauma. Thank God! The burns to his chest and back are healing and now look more like chicken pox scars than cigarette burns. He will always have the physical reminders of his horrific start to life, but I hope that time and love will erase the emotional scars. He has also put on a fair amount of weight and is looking more like a healthy four year old. The gaunt face, hollow eyes, and bulging belly are being replaced by full cheeks and solid limbs.

Emotionally, his progress is much slower. He doesn't talk at all, although I know it's not due to anything physical. I had every type of evaluation done while he was in the hospital. The child psychologist we have hired says it selective mutism, brought on by a severe case of PTSD. Basically, it's his defense mechanism for coping with what he has endured. Given the extent of emotional suffering, Dr. Widrick says that it may be months before he talks again. We just have to be patient and nurturing.

I have taken some time off from my duties at DMC to spend as much time with Christian as possible; making sure that he is receiving the best counseling and follow-up medical care. I am also spending as much time with Elliot as I can before he has to share my time with a new sibling. He is over the moon excited about having a brother, but I know it will still be a huge adjustment, especially with Christian's background. Elliot has been so understanding of this, it just simply amazes me how sweet and compassionate my oldest son is. From the first time that he met Christian, Elliot has been enamored with him; telling him how excited he is to have him as a brother, and listing all of the things that they will be able to do together.

It makes me sad though to think of all of the everyday kid things that Elliot wants to do with him, things that Christian has never experienced. He has spent his whole young life struggling to merely survive the pain and torment inflicted on him, and it makes me want to scream. He was robbed of such simple childhood joys, like ice cream and playing at the park.

_I had gone to 'visit' my son at the Colliers' house shortly after he was sent to live out the three months waiting period with them. Carrick and I had decided that we should introduce him to Elliot and I had arranged for the boys to meet at the park near his foster home. Carrick took Elliot and I would meet them there with Christian. He was still very nervous around Carrick and the psychologist said that it was because of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his mother's pimp. It broke Carrick's heart seeing that fear and uncertainty in his eyes, but we had been told that it would take a great deal of time for Christian to trust any adults, especially men. He was definitely more relaxed with me, but he still kept a distance and wouldn't let me hold him. He had, however, started to hold my hand a little would give me a slight smile when doing so. I had to make do with that for the time being and reassure myself that in time the hugs and kisses would hopefully come. Baby steps. So, Carrick took Elliot to the playground for some father/son time together while I went to get Christian. No doubt, he spent time reminding our rough and tumble six year old that his new brother was not as physical as he was. _

_I liked the Colliers, for the most part. They were a warm couple, affectionate and genuinely sweet, but part of me thought that they were in over their heads. They had two teenaged children of their own and were fostering another little boy, an eight year old named Jack. Maybe it was that boy that made me feel uneasy about the situation. He just seemed to be angry all the time, and didn't seem to have a positive outlet for his emotions. Every time I saw him he was breaking or destroying something. There was a fury in his eyes, like a volcano bubbling just below the surface, and I was for Christian should he be around that boy's anger erupted. He seemed to be jealous of Christian and when my son's favorite red car was broken, I suspected that it was Jack who torn the wheels off of it. Christian loved that car more than anything and I know that he would never do anything to break it. I mentioned my concerns to Mrs. Collier and asked her to pay close attention to Jack's behavior around my son. _

_When I got to the Colliers' home to pick up Christian, Jack was there playing with him, acting as sweet as pie, so I assume that the Colliers had had a talk with him. I asked Christian if he would like to meet his brother and play at the park and off we went, walking the few blocks to meet Carrick and Elliot. _

_When we finally got to the park, Christian just stood in the grass, frozen in place. He had a look of confusion and awe on his little face. Surely, he had been to a playground before. Every child has, right? But the look on his face said it all. He had never seen a playground or swings before and that realization hit me right in the heart._

_Elliot was amazing! He talked to Christian so sweetly, but wasn't overbearing and he didn't touch him. He offered to teach him how to swing and I felt like my heart was about to burst with the love I felt for my oldest son at that moment. He was Christian's big brother and he was going to take him under his wing and teach him all about the world and protect him from it at the same time. It wasn't even an issue with Elliot when the swings proved to be a bad idea. Christian couldn't climb onto the seat and just fell into the dirt and started to cry. Elliot reassured him that is OK and then gave him space while he went to play on the jungle gym. _

_Christian just sat there in the dirt looking frustrated and scared. He was crying and it looked like he wanted to just say something, but was too scared to try. He is a smart boy, and I can know he understands everything we say to him, but he hadn't figured out whether or not it was safe for him to communicate yet. He just sat there in the dirt, drawing. He was so focused and when I looked closely at the patterns in the dirt I saw that he was drawing letters. He was writing the alphabet!_

_I sat down across from him and with a stick I wrote out the letters of his name: __**CHRISTIAN**_

_and he copied me. He could write his name, just like on the wall at the apartment where they found him! I wondered what else he could write and took the stick and wrote the letters to my name :__**GRACE**_

_and said each letter aloud. He copied the letters and looked at me with a small smile on his face. I wrote one more word, our last name: __**GREY**_

_and then the rest of the alphabet, reciting each letter as I wrote it. He copied the first few letters of the alphabet and then wrote his name in the dirt: __**CHRISTIAN GREY**_

_and looked up at me. All I could do was smile and nod my head, I was afraid that if I spoke I would burst into tears. This was so much more than baby steps. This was a milestone. My son, my Christian, had just shown me that he can and wants to communicate; he just has to figure out a way to overcome his fear. _

_I could have sat there in the dirt all night, smiling at my amazing boy, but it was getting dark and he was getting tired. Carrick had brought my car over from the Colliers house, that's where he and Elliot had disappeared to earlier, and I walked with Christian holding onto my fingers to the car. He fell asleep on the short ride back and I was actually able to carry him into bed. I didn't want to put him down but I also knew that he would be scared if he awoke to someone holding on to him. That contact needed to be on his time; so I gently laid him in his bed and tucked him in. Baby steps._

_Mrs. Collier and I sat at the kitchen table talking about my discovery and about Christian and Jack. She said that she had seen Jack's behavior towards Christian becoming more aggressive and that it concerned her as well. She had witnessed him hitting Christian a few times, twice unprovoked and had contacted Jack's case worker. I was reaching the point of expressing my anger at her for not mentioning this when it happened, but we were interrupted by the sound of a cry or scream from Christian's room. I dropped my cup of tea and ran into the bedroom that he shared with Jack to see the older boy standing over Christian, holding his small arm in a vice grip with one hand while his other was clenched into a tight fist. Mrs. Collier yelled his name and he froze. Christian looked just like he did when I first laid eyes on him in the ER and I pushed into the room to comfort my son. Jack tried to say that Christian punched him, but Christian was just rocking back and forth and crying, shaking his head to say 'no'. _

_I knew it. This was not going to work! I ran and grabbed my cell phone from my purse and called Carrick. Christian would not be staying at the Colliers another night. After I called my husband to let him know I was bringing him home, I called Margaret, his case worker, and told her that this foster care situation was over. Christian would be going home with me. I apologized to Mrs. Collier, packed a small bag with Christian's things and left that house for last time. Christian was coming home. Milestone._

I smile to myself as I sit on the bench at the park near our home, watching my two boys swinging together and smiling. Baby steps and Milestones every day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: A Brother's Wisdom**

**A/n: Sorry it's been a few days wait for an update, sometimes 'real life' has to filter in. Anyway, here is happy chapter. Enjoy!**

**I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the characters.**

Wisdom comes with age, I truly believe that.

I just didn't think I would be referring to the wisdom of my 7 year old son when I said this. I think that Elliot is wise beyond his years; he has a compassion that one rarely sees in young children. Usually, this is a trait that is developed with maturity; young kids are just learning how to function in group settings like school, and life at this age is very self centric. Most kids have a hard time understanding how their actions will affect themselves, let alone others, but not Elliot. He seems to be more attuned to others feelings and behaviors since Christian has come home. It amazes me how the two of them have bonded in such a short time. It has been ten weeks since Christian came into our lives and of that, only five of those have been him living with us. In those five weeks I have been witness to the compassion and protectiveness Elliot has for his little brother. It has made me realize that the bond between my boys is extremely strong, and it doesn't matter if the bond is by blood or not.

The signs started out small, Elliot cutting up Christian's waffles at breakfast and helping him pour milk. Simple enough tasks and I just took it as my older son being polite and helpful.

Frankly, I was a bit surprised. I knew that having him home with us would be an adjustment for everyone, especially Christian. I mean, what little I know about his life prior to him coming to me is horrific, and I am sure that he was beyond overwhelmed. I was so worried about how he would handle all of these changes. Simple things that we take for granted were a big deal. The Colliers had told me that Christian didn't sleep in his bed at their house; instead he curled up on the floor. I know that there was no bed for him in that apartment that he was found in. He was left to sleep on a dirty floor in the corner and the comfort of a bed was foreign to him. In fact, having his own bedroom here was difficult for him at first. He was so scared to be left alone at night even with the bedroom door open, his lights on, and the TV on. I spoke at length with his case worker and psychologist about strategies to help him acclimate, but it was Elliot who had the solution. One night Elliot just went into Christian's room with his sleeping bag and lay on the floor with him so he wasn't alone. This went on for about a week or two, sometimes in Christian's room, other times in Elliot's. Eventually, it was at Elliot's gentle urging that Christian become confident enough to sleep on his own; although there are mornings that I wake up to find my boys sleeping in the same room, one in the bed, one on the floor.

Elliot just seems to understand Christian's closed off mind, better than Carrick or I or any doctor, for that matter. He instinctively knows what his brother is thinking, and has a way of getting him to open up. He alone has made this change in to our family a wonderful and wonder filled experience.

This was evident last week at Elliot's birthday party. Carrick and I wanted to do something special for our older child; we didn't want him to feel left out with all of the special issues of Christian's that needed to be tended to. Most of the doctor's appointments and therapy sessions were during school hours so Elliot didn't see all of the extra time we spent with just Christian, but there were the occasional social worker visits and other things that took precedence over playing catch or going to the park. We had decided that for Elliot's birthday we would do a big party at the house. We invited a bunch of Elliot's friends from school and some children from our neighborhood as well. There were fifteen 6 and 7 year old boys in all that came. It was controlled chaos to say the least! Most of the kids knew that Elliot had a brother and they were excited to meet Christian. They ran upstairs and burst into his room, all wanting to see him and play with him. In the excitement, however, my little boy got overwhelmed with the loud noises and the pushing and shoving to meet him. He started to panic and cry. Some of the boys had tried to touch him and a few others were curiously staring at him while he cried. The situation was sending Christian over the edge, especially when Brandon from next door picked up Christian's toy cars and made a remark about the red one being a piece of junk. The red one is his favorite, the one he brought from hell on earth. As I bolted up the stairs to protect my fragile boy I heard Elliot snap at his friends. He wasn't loud, but he was stern.

"_Leave my brother alone! He doesn't like to be touched and he doesn't want to be stared at like a zoo animal"_, Elliot growls at his friends.

"_And Brandon, you don't like it when people play with your toys, so don't play with his!"_

When I reached the door to Christian's room, prepared to barge in I stopped dead in my tracks. Elliot was standing in front of Christian, his back to his friends and he was calmly whispering to Christian that he was sorry. He was telling him how he was excited for his friends to meet his brother and that he didn't know that they would scare him. Christian stood there staring at him, tears running down his face. Elliot calmly took his shirt sleeve and wiped Christian's tears, then turned around to his friends and said,

"_This is my little brother Christian. He is four years old, almost five. He doesn't talk out loud yet, but he talks to me. He doesn't like to be touched and he doesn't like loud noises, but he likes soccer and cartoons and waffles, like me. He is my best friend."_

He looked down at his little brother and wiggled his fingers. Christian grabbed hold of them and the two boys stood there facing the other boys together. I could barely hold my tears back as I interrupted the moment, telling the boys that it was time for cake and presents. As the other kids ran past me to the stairs I watched Elliot look at Christian and whisper,

"_For my birthday last year I wished for a little brother, and my wish came true. I got you. This year, I want both of us to share a wish."_

And with that, the two of them walked by me to go open presents and eat cake.

I took a moment to recover my emotions, I had never seen Elliot like that, so gentle and concerned; and Christian trusted him completely. It was the most wonderful thing I had ever seen, my boys standing together as one.

I rushed to the kitchen to help Mrs. Andrews with cake and ice cream, smiling from ear to ear. Elliot was in his glory as the kids sang "Happy Birthday' and when it came time to blow out the candles, he showed Christian what to do and my boys did it together. Carrick and I could both see the love for his brother in Elliot's eyes, and Christian smiled as he helped his big brother make a birthday wish.

Later that night, after dinner and baths, I sat on Elliot's bed and talked to my eldest son. The conversation I had overheard earlier in Christian's room was weighing on my mind. Elliot had told his friends that Christian talks to him. What did he mean? Christian hadn't spoken a word since I met him; at least I was pretty sure he hadn't. Surely Elliot would have told me or his father such big news.

"_Hey, big boy, how was your birthday? Was it a great day?"_

"_It was fun, 'cept when it made Christian sad,"_ he says with wide eyes.

I can tell that it really bothered him that his friends were scaring Christian, and that he felt like it was his fault.

"_Elliot, you told your friends earlier that Christian doesn't talk out loud, but that he talks to you. What did you mean?"_

"_I mean what I said. He doesn't talk out loud, but he talks to me. He can talk to you too, you just need payshins mom,"_ and he gives me that all knowing look of a wise seven year old.

"_Patience, Elliot,"_ I said correcting him and ruffling his hair.

"_How does Christian talk to you?"_ I asked, almost pleading.

He climbed out of bed, went to his desk and retrieved a large legal pad. It must have been from Carrick's office. He climbed back up and sat next to me, handing me the pad.

"_We talk with pictures and letters, see?" _

I flipped through the pad, seeing all sorts of childrens' drawings and the tears start welling in my eyes. Elliot put his arm around my back and hugged me to him.

"_Mom, Christian is smart, really smart. He just doesn't have the sounds in this throat that's all,"_ he says as he explains the pictures. Two stick figures on swings, playing with a ball, holding hands and smiling.

"_That's us playing on the swings and playing soccer. And this is us happy being brothers,"_ he smiled up at me.

The next page was all letters, like Christian was practicing what he and I had worked on; his name and Elliot's and our last name. Below that the word 'brothers' in Elliot's writing and then in Christian's. My heart was bursting at the seams with total joy over these pages. Elliot had gotten his brother to **'talk'**; he had gotten Christian to open up! I was amazed. I sat there on the bed with Elliot for a while, just taking in the drawings and words, listening to Elliot tell me about their conversations, how he would talk and how Christian would draw and write.

The last page said it all. It was a picture of a little stick figure, all alone with a sad face and tears. The picture had a big 'X' through it and below it was a picture of four stick figures, two big, and two little. All four stick figures were smiling and holding hands and there were no tears. Below that was one simple, powerful word.

FAMILY.


	9. Chapter 9

**a/n: It has been a few days since my last update, and I do apologize. This is just a short chapter to give a little insight into the move out west. I promise another, longer chapter, by tomorrow.**

**I do not own Fifty Shades or the characters.**

**Chapter 9: Home**

It's New Years Eve 1987 and just like every other New Years Eve, people are making resolutions meant to change and better themselves, though most of these resolutions will be forgotten once the revelry ends and the hangovers set in. As I sit at our at the country club listening to resolutions about losing weight, getting into shape, and improving golf games that will broken within the week, I think about my resolution for the New Year; my resolution for a new beginning.

I miss my mom. Not in the 'I haven't been home in a while' nostalgic kind of way, but in that way that makes me cry with need for her calming influence over me. I need her guidance and support so much right now and it is overwhelming me. I feel as if I am drowning and that she is the only person that can save me, and the realization that she is so far away brings me deeper into this darkness. My mother is everything to me. She is my best friend, my confidante, my champion, my hero. Even as a thirty four year old wife, mother, and successful physician, I am a 'mommy's girl' and I need her so much right now to tell me that everything is going to be alright.

She is the strongest woman I have ever met and I am in awe of her to this day. I am her and my father's only child and according to her I am a miracle. Like me, she had wanted a large family, but was met with heartache in the form of miscarried pregnancies and a stillbirth. In all, she was pregnant five times and I am her only child, her Grace. She endured her pain alone, living out west in Washington with my father as he worked for the Forestry Service overseeing the logging industry in the Pacific Northwest. She left her parents, siblings and friends on the east coast and started this new life with my father at the age of nineteen. She didn't work, but chose to devote her time to my father and making a home for them outside of Seattle. He travelled quite a bit early in their marriage and she had to endure the loneliness and pain of her lost pregnancies mainly on her own. When I was born, she took of her energy and love and showered me with the best childhood ever. My love of music and the outdoors comes from her, as does my fierce desire to fight for what I believe in. My mother instilled that in me from an early age. She also made sure that I knew the value of education. She married straight out of high school to be with my father, and sacrificed her education, although she would never once admit to an ounce of regret with her decision. But I know she always wanted more for me, and she was my strongest supporter. She made sure that I took advantage of every opportunity to ensure my future and when I graduated valedictorian of my high school class, she cheered louder than anyone. I had won a scholarship to Yale for my undergraduate degree and she forced me to go. I know it killed her to see me go to school so far away, she knew that it would be the best decision. Again she sacrificed herself for me and she was right. Had I not gone to Yale, I wouldn't have found a love for medicine, I wouldn't have found the love of my life, I wouldn't have met Carrick, and I wouldn't be here now needing to be back home with my mom.

I keep saying that it's just the stress of the holidays, but I know deep down it's more than that. I am overwhelmed. I have a demanding career and two small children, one of whom is in need of extra care. I knew what I was signing up for when we adopted Christian, all of the issues and what would be needed to help heal him. Financially, Carrick and I can provide for every one of Christians needs, even if I wasn't working, but emotionally I don't know if I can give 110% to work and family at the same time. I don't want my son to suffer and I certainly don't want to rely on hired help to raise my boys, I want to be there for them through everything. I should be there for everything; every therapy appointment, every school event, every T-ball game. And if I can't be there, it should be family.

Maybe my mom is right, maybe we should come home. I mean the last few months have been exhausting and life is only going to get busier. In the three short months since Christian came into our lives we have had not only the adjustment of having a second child, but it has been the busiest time of the year with Thanksgiving and Christmas, and now New Years. My mother could see the effects of the past three months when she was here for Thanksgiving. She could see the bags under my eyes and the signs of the emotional exhaustion weighing heavily on me. She witnessed the sleepless nights after Christian's nightmares, and she stayed up holding me and listening to me cry on her shoulder when I broke down Thanksgiving night.

I had worked a twelve hour shift at the hospital and was feeling the guilt of not being home to prepare Thanksgiving dinner. My parents were there and my mother had the meal under control, Mrs. Andrews was helping with the boys and Carrick and my father were watching football. I came home too exhausted to even eat, having been up with Christian soothing another nightmare until I had to be at work. I walked in to the most beautiful sight, my family sitting together at the dining room table waiting for me, and I broke into tears. The guilt of not being home tore at my heart and all of the stress bubbled over as I collapsed into a sobbing heap on the dining room floor. My mother came rushing over to me and helped me up to bed and made me sleep. She took care of Carrick and the boys, handled dinner and got everyone settled for the night. When I awoke later that night, she was up waiting for me in the kitchen with a plate of Thanksgiving dinner and a welcoming hug. She listened to me as I let out all of my fears and insecurities, fears about Christian's future, about not being able to help him, about him not accepting me as his mother like Elliot had done so easily. She dried my tears as I cried about my guilt over continuing to work and she held me close as I told her that all I wanted was to come home.

"_I can't do this mom…it's too hard to do this alone"_ I cried into her shoulder.

"_Baby girl, you aren't alone. You have a wonderful husband who supports you, you have friends and coworkers who have offered to help and you have a wonderful nanny in Mrs. Andrews."_

"_I need you mom. I need you to tell me that it will be OK, that I can do this. I need you to know that I made the right choice, not for me but for Christian. What if he…if he doesn't get better mom? What if he can't get better? What do I do?"_ I sob.

"_You love him Grace, unconditionally. That is what you do. You love him with everything you have and follow your heart. If something doesn't seem right, don't do it. Any decisions you make out of love for your boys are the right decisions, and don't second guess your heart."_

"_I want to come home mom. I want to move back west. My heart is telling me, screaming at me to come home. There is nothing here in Detroit for us after the adoption is final. Nothing but reminders of Christian's beginning. I don't want that on my mind, I want family,"_ I admit in almost a whisper to her.

"_Gracie, have you talked to Carrick? What does he say?_"

"_In the abstract we have discussed it. He has no family left once his brother passed a few years ago. He has never said no…"_

"_But you are scared that he might?" _she asks.

"_Yes. But I am more scared that if I don't tell him what I want, that I will resent myself and him later on," _I admit.

"_Then it sounds like you know what you need to do baby girl. Talk to your husband, and tell him. Be honest; don't hide your fears sweetheart. It's brave to be strong when you need to be, but it is braver to admit that you need help. Carrick is a wonderful man and he will help you, and together you will make the best choice."_

"_I know mom…thanks for listening and for being the mother that I strive to be. I love you."_

Now I just need the courage to tell Carrick how I feel. I know, in my heart, that moving is the best decision for our family. It's a fresh start for Christian, and we will have the support of my parents when things get hard. I get up from the table to go get some fresh air. I need some clarity right now, and listening to a bunch of drunken lawyers is not giving me that. I go out to the lobby and rest my forehead on the cool glass of the window, just watching the snow fall. It feels good to be alone and the snow reminds me of home, reminds me that I am making the right choice. I just stare out the window feeling a calm come over me. I don't know how long I have been out here when Carrick comes to stand behind me.

"_Here you are sweetheart. Is everything OK? It's almost midnight and I want to make sure I get the first kiss of the New Year."_

I turn to him and he can tell I am on the verge of tears.

"_Grace, what's wrong? Is it the boys?"_ he asks with a slight panic.

"_No Cary, the boys are fine"_ I whisper, knowing that now is the time.

"_Then what is it, sweetheart? Tell me."_

"_I want to go home, Cary"_ I say so quietly that I am not sure he hears me.

"_OK, let's go ring in the New Year and then we can leave."_

"_No, not home to our house Cary….home….to Washington,"_ as the tears overflow my eyes and stream down my cheeks.


	10. Chapter 10

a/n: Thank you for the awesome reviews...I love you guys!

I hope you like this, it was fun to write!

I do not iwn Fifty Shades or the characters.

Chapter 10: Napkins

3:48AM I slowly tiptoe down the hall. I have been lying with Christian for over two hours, after another one of his night terrors. I can't sleep and really, I need to be up in two hours anyway so why bother trying? I head downstairs in the dark to make some coffee and recover from yet another sleepless night. I navigate my way through to the kitchen, almost. I trip over a box left in the hallway, stubbing my toe and nearly falling headfirst into the wall. Why my parents named me Grace is beyond me; I have the coordination of Bambi walking on the icy pond. Graceful I am not. As I flip on the overhead light I see that the culprit is the box holding our framed photos and albums; I started packing these up earlier before putting the boys to bed. The top album is full of pictures of Carrick and me from when we were dating. I pick it up and head over to the window seat in the kitchen for a quiet stroll down memory lane.

Even after all of these years I still can't believe that Carrick is my husband. When we met we could not have been any more opposite personalities, polar opposites in fact. I was the quiet, introverted, self conscience science geek and he was the loud, obnoxi

ous, frat boy party animal who girls seemed to flock around, and I could have cared less about meeting.

I was almost through with my senior year of undergraduate studies at Yale, totally focused on school and definitely not looking for any type of romantic distraction. It was the first Saturday in April and my roommates were dragging me, literally, out of the library to celebrate my acceptance into medical school. I was NOT a partier. School was far too important to me, and I never really liked the whole 'bar scene'. I was a self proclaimed nerd, socially inept in the dating world, preferring the comfort of the medical library to the local hangouts around campus. But that night my roommates were determined to make me celebrate, so off we went in search of trouble.

Four bars and countless shots (for my roommates) later, I was reduced to playing babysitter. How those two girls could drink so much and still stand was beyond me. I sat back and nursed my warm beer at the bar, watching them dance with some fraternity boys from Harvard and wished that I could just leave them there. Missy stumbled over halfway through some Donna Summer song with one of them; a tall guy with light brown hair and hazel green eyes.

"_Grace, this is Cary Grey….Grant….Grey….something"_, she giggled, _"he thinks you're hot!"_ she blurted out and sauntered back to the dance floor, leaving me standing there with the drunk frat boy.

To say that I was embarrassed would have been the understatement of the decade. I wanted to crawl under the bar and die. This guy was definitely good looking, to the point that he could have probably had any girl in the bar. Why me? I figured that his friends probably dared him to talk to me. I did my best to seem uninterested, hoping he would give up and just walk away, but he didn't quit. He bought me a beer, and tried countless times to engage me in conversation. He was cocky, arrogant, overly confident and borderline obnoxious in the way he leaned in towards me trying to work the fraternity boy charm. He didn't seem to take a hint, and the more I ignored him the more he tried to talk to me. Finally, I had enough and I got up from the bar and went out to the dance floor. Missy and Amber almost fell over, they actually thought I was going out there to dance; and apparently so did Mr. Harvard. I leaned into Missy and told her that I was leaving and that I would call a cab to meet them when I got home. I said goodnight to frat boy and his friends and left, thankful to finally be out of that bar.

The walk home was short, thankfully, it was April in Connecticut and it was cold, but not snowing or raining. It wasn't smart to walk home alone, especially that late at night, but I really didn't care. I made it to my apartment in record time and searched my bag for my keys. As I opened the door to our brownstone, the sound of a branch under someone's foot startled me and I froze. I fumbled with my keys trying to make it inside in case someone had followed me, but then I heard my name.

"_Grace, I just wanted to make sure you got home OK. I am sorry if I scared you."_

It was frat boy. He followed me home. This couldn't be good. I quickly unlocked the door and ran inside, not even acknowledging him. What if he was some crazed rapist…or worse? I peeked out the window to see if he was still there, but thankfully he wasn't. Close call I thought to myself as I went up to my room and crawled into bed, glad that I made it home safe and just a little freaked out by whatever his name was.

The next day, when Amber finally got out of bed she handed me a note, written on a bar napkin. It was from him,

**Grace**

**I had a great time being ignored by you last night. Maybe we can do it again sometime. Cambridge is only 130 miles from New Haven. Maybe next weekend you could ignore me over dinner halfway.**

**Carrick Grey**

**617-495-2120**

Wow! He was SO arrogant. I was appalled, but secretly flattered. Amber and Missy both said I should call him, but I wasn't sure. He was obviously drunk last night and anyway, what would I have in common with someone like him? Missy said he was a trust fund kid from Maryland; his roommate had given her the dirt. His parents were older, his dad some type of diplomat and his mother a society wife. He had a brother who was 17 years older than he was and worked for some big government law firm. Carrick was a first year law student, a Harvard legacy. Great, a spoiled rich kid, definitely not my type. I lied and said I would call, knowing that I never would.

I smile as I look at the napkin in the photo album. Of course I kept it. It was the first of many notes and letters from my husband, and the one that started it all.

I didn't have to call. Four days later Carrick Grey called me. He was still arrogant, but not as much as I thought that night at the bar. He asked me if I would please have dinner with him that Friday night. He even offered to come to New Haven since I didn't have a car. How could I say no? I couldn't, Amber and Missy grabbed the phone from me and said yes, 7PM dinner Friday night. I was having dinner with Mr. Harvard fraternity boy, trust fund Grey.

The date was a train wreck. I was nervous and hardly said two words. He talked non-stop….about himself. I spilled red wine all over the table and he drank too much. As far as first dates went, it was up there as an epic failure. I was sure that I would never hear from him again, which was fine by me. I had finals coming up and I had to focus on completing my scholarship applications for med school. I didn't have time for dating, and I am sure that I had pretty much scared this guy away. Except he was too drunk to drive back to Cambridge, which I am sure he planned, and had to crash on my couch. I hoped that he would sober up and leave early in the morning, but I was wrong. He was there in my living room when I got up the next morning. He looked hung over, and shy. He apologized repeatedly for his behavior and offered to make it up to me….over breakfast. Reluctantly I went, hoping that he would finally see that we had nothing in common and that we would say our goodbyes and move on. But it was the exact opposite. He was polite, funny, nervous and a gentleman. We talked about everything and nothing at all. He admitted that he was being arrogant the night before, but that it was an act because he was nervous around me. Breakfast ended and we walked around campus talking for hours. This guy was different than the one I had met a week prior and I liked spending time with him. I was actually sad to see him leave that afternoon, but we both had busy calendars and he had a paper to write.

The rest of the photo album is pictures of us over the course of next four years. We maintained a casual, but exclusive relationship. We were both busy with school and neither one of us was ready to make a more serious commitment. Casual dating was perfect, or so I thought. It was perfect for me, I had a 'boyfriend' of sorts, someone I saw every other weekend, but not someone who I thought would ever become more than that. Carrick was still a party guy, he had his life with his Harvard friends and I had mine. I never asked for more and I figured that if he wanted more from me that he would have brought it up. The four years flew by in a haze of exams, practicums, and exhaustion. I finished near the top of my class and pretty much had my choice of residency options. Something about Detroit stood out and I made the decision to move to Michigan shortly after graduation. Carrick had a clerkship with a federal judge in Boston and in my mind I figured that my moving wouldn't be a big deal. It's not like we were that serious, right?

I casually told him of my decision over dinner a few days before graduation. He had driven down to spend the weekend of graduation with me and I figured that he would understand. Boy was I wrong. Me telling him that I was moving to Detroit was likened to me telling him the world was coming to an end. It was our first REAL fight in four years and it was the first time that I truly saw that Carrick thought more about our relationship than I gave him credit for. He told me that he couldn't believe that after four years together that I could just up and decide to move halfway across the country without even mentioning it to him. He was hurt and angry. He said that obviously I meant more to him than he did to me and that he wasn't going to waste another minute of his life playing games with me. I was in shock. He was crying in the middle of the restaurant, and telling me that he couldn't carry on in a 'casual' relationship with me any longer. He got up and walked out, leaving me sitting there alone, too stunned to even cry.

I sat there for an hour waiting to see if he would come back, but he didn't. I finally paid the bill and caught a cab home. It didn't hit me until the next morning that he had walked out on me; he dumped me in public two days before the biggest day of my life. Did he dump me, or did I dump him? I mean I was the one packing up and moving away without even a thought as to his feelings. I tried calling his apartment, but he didn't, or wouldn't, return my calls. For the first time in four years, I felt alone. Carrick had become a constant; he was always there for me. He was my best friend. I loved him.

I couldn't believe how stupid I was. I loved this man and I had treated him like his feelings didn't matter. I took him for granted. At the same time, I was confused because he wasn't exactly open with how he felt about me either. Maybe he was using my decision to move as a way to end our relationship without feeling guilty. Whatever was going on, we needed to talk, but the ball was in his court. He walked out on me. I tried calling him again that evening and left a message on his machine telling him how sorry I was and that I hoped he would call me back so that we could talk. I crawled into bed and tried to sleep. The next morning my parents were arriving and graduation was that evening.

Graduation morning was a blur. My parents were there and everything was a whirlwind. I was a bundle of nervous energy and all I could think about was how Carrick hadn't returned my call. Maybe it was over, maybe I was right and he was using my move as a way out of a dead end relationship. I mean, I hadn't given him any indication that I wanted more, just like he hadn't given me any. I was numb. I forced the thought out of my head and tried to focus on just making it through the ceremony and dinner. I was hurt that he wouldn't be there to see me achieve this goal, like I was there for him last year, but I couldn't dwell on it because I didn't want my parents to see me cry over some guy that I had repeatedly assured them was not a serious boyfriend.

About an hour before we needed to leave for campus, the doorbell rang and Carrick was standing on the front stoop with a huge bouquet of pale pink peonies and white roses, my two favorite flowers. He said hello to parents and looked at my father intently.

"_Mr. Trevelyan, I apologize for not being a proper gentleman right at the moment, but your daughter has decided to move to Detroit in a week and has left me no other choice"_

My father was confused but he didn't have a chance to respond because the next thing I knew Carrick had walked over to me and grabbed my hands

"_Grace, I meant what I said about not wasting another minute of my life playing games with you. I am not going to let you move to Detroit without me. I have spent the past four years giving you space and playing it cool, but not anymore. I love you and I want to be wherever you are. Grace, I cant spend my life without you, marry me please"_

Out of his pocket he pulled the most beautiful diamond ring, wrapped in a napkin from the bar where we had first met four years prior. There was a note on that napkin too.

**Grace-**

**I love you. Please say yes.**

**Carrick**


	11. Chapter 11

**a/n: Thank you so much for the amazing reviews! I will definitely be adding more to back story of Carrick and Grace's relationship in the future! As for now though, there is a move to get ready for and a pretty poignant goodbye. I hope the dates make sense.**

**I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the characters.**

**Chapter 11: Saying Goodbye**

My mom told me once that sometimes having to say goodbye is bittersweet, but that there are times when saying goodbye a welcome treat. This statement has proven to be true so many times since we have decided to leave Detroit.

Surprisingly, the decision to move was easy enough. Carrick wasn't surprised at all by my desire to move back home and seems to embrace the idea of being near family. Since his brother passed away a few years ago, my parents, the boys and I are his only family. He has grown quite close to my dad and he cherishes their relationship, I think because he never had the opportunity to have that bond with his own father. Being closer will allow him to spend more time enjoying that connection. If I really stop and think about it, it seems like Carrick had been thinking about moving before I brought it up. I only say this because he seemed to have career prospects lined up rather quickly. He has decided that he no longer wants to be involved in criminal prosecution and he hired a headhunter to help him transition into private practice. Within a month of us making the decision to move to Washington he had been flown out to Seattle numerous times and was being courted by two large, well respected firms. The choice was easy and my husband is the newest junior partner in the corporate law division of Harris, McCardle and Long, PLLC, the most well respected law firm in the Pacific Northwest. He will be working out of the Seattle offices with minimal travel and will be able to volunteer with a Children's Initiative to meet his pro bono requirements. He begins a week from Monday.

We had a dinner last night with most of his colleagues from the District Attorney's Office to say goodbye and tomorrow evening the Child Advocacy Center is honoring him with a dinner for his dedicated work over the past few years. Saying goodbye to the DA's office was not difficult. He was reaching burnout and had been contemplating leaving there prior to our decision. However, tonight will be a bittersweet goodbye. Through his work with the CAC countless children and families have been helped and probably saved from terrible situations, and I know that he feels as if he is abandoning them in a way. He has set up an annual endowment, anonymously of course, to help fund outreach programs specifically to help children affected by drug and alcohol abuse. Part of this is because of Christian's beginning in life, but he also still feels the need to make a difference here in Detroit. I wish he hadn't set it up anonymously, but Carrick doesn't want the attention, nor does he want it public knowledge that he has a substantial fund of money at his disposal. He made that mistake once, before I knew him, and was hurt by people claiming to care about him when all they really cared about was his money. I don't know all of the details, but I know that he doesn't trust people very easily because of it. I didn't even know how much money my husband has until after we were married, not that ever cared to know. His money is his, and what I didn't know then, I don't care to know now. All I need to know is that our children will be well provided for in the form a trust, but that they will not know about the trust unless needed. He doesn't want them falling prey to false friends like he did and I respect that. Money has never mattered to me and I don't want my boys growing up focused on it. So the grant will remain anonymous, and it will not be made public until after we are in Seattle so tomorrow is solely meant to honor the time and dedication that Carrick has so selflessly given to the CAC, just as it should.

Yesterday was my last day as a physician at DMC. I was treated to a surprise going away luncheon in the cafeteria by the ER and pediatric floors. I am still not sure if this goodbye is a good thing or not; I will miss my colleagues and the staff, and certainly my patients, but I will not miss the constant ache in my heart for the lost innocence I see so much of on a daily basis. Saying goodbye to this place is definitely bittersweet. If it weren't for DMC, I wouldn't have Christian and if it weren't for Christian I would not want to leave here.

As much as I have loved being in the hospital setting with the fast pace and infinite amount of challenges, I have decided to enter into private practice in the Seattle area. I am joining a pediatric group affiliated with Northwest Hospital. It is a smart decision and it is what is best for my family. This move is about giving my kids the best life possible, not furthering my career. Leaving the hospital setting will give me the time to spend with Elliot and Christian; and my new practice's philosophy on children's health affords me greater access to the best in medical care and psycho-social development therapies around. I couldn't ask for a better opportunity than this for Christian's continued recovery. This group has the only pediatric mental health department in the area as a part of the practice and my colleagues are all top notch published doctors who are eager to meet my dear Christian.

Its not that I have been dissatisfied with Christian's treatment here, but part of me believes that the counselors and therapists that we were required to see per the state are not the absolute best, and some had frankly just given up on Christian. His PTSD is not a simple case and couple that with his selective mutism, no one really knows the extent of his emotional trauma. Without Christian speaking, they couldn't progress further than what they knew from his limited medical file so most had stopped trying. Saying goodbye to his state mandated treatment team was definitely welcome.

The biggest goodbye came last week, exactly three months, two weeks, and four days after I had first laid eyes on a terrified, sick little boy in my ER. Last Tuesday at 11:30AM in the Wayne County Family Court we said goodbye to Christian Daniels, case # 1988-64391B. It really was a simple adoption. There was no one to contest our petition and I think that the state was thankful for us taking him. We signed the paperwork with the judge, the case worker did her part and it was final. I let out a breath that it felt like I had been holding in since this whole process had begun. Christian Daniels was officially Christian Trevelyan-Grey, my son. My tears were welling in my eyes as I looked at Carrick and then my son, bending down to look into his beautiful gray eyes.

"_It's all over baby boy, no more visits from Miss Margaret or anyone else. It's just me and you, daddy and Elliot. It's just our family baby from now on. I love you Christian, forever."_

I so desperately wanted to take him in my arms and hold him, but I knew that I couldn't, not just yet. I just touched his head and smiled. In turn, he smiled back shyly, and held my fingers, bringing them slowly up to his face. I held my breath and just stared at my son as he kissed the finger he was holding and then brushed a tear that had escaped and was rolling down my cheek with his other hand. It was as if time stood still for a moment as Christian told me in his own way that he trusted and loved me.

That brief moment meant more to me than anything else, but it was over just as quickly as it happened. A look came across my son's face, one of fear mixed with shame or guilt maybe, and he quickly dropped my hand and turned from me putting his head down. All too soon, the reality of his past collided with the present and it broke my heart. He knew what was going on, I was his new mom and his old mom was gone. Did he miss her? Was he feeling guilty for missing her, or for accepting me? Did he even want to be with us? All of my fears over someone taking him from me were suddenly replaced by the fear that he didn't want to be our son.

What if his nightmares weren't about his past, but about a future he didn't want? What if he wasn't talking, not because of trauma, but because he didn't want to talk to us? What if we were doing more harm than good? My feelings of relief and joy were replaced with feelings of doubt and dread. We did this for Christian, to help him and love him and protect him, but what if he hated us for it, what if he didn't want this….the tears were pouring down my face as these questions raced through my mind.

Carrick was at a loss. He had seen the sweet, loving interaction between Christian and me and then his immediate change. He came over and put his arm around me to help steady me as I calmed down.

"_Christian, are you ready to go home son?"_ he asked casually, trying to break the mood.

"_Lets go eat maybe, Coney Island for hot dogs?" _he tempted, and Christian turned around and hesitantly nodded his head yes.

"_Coney Island lunches it is then"_ and he waved his hand for Christian to grab and just like that all was right with the world again.

I shook off my mood and smiled at my beautiful boy, my son. I needed to remember that just as this was an adjustment for me, it was more so for him. His entire world had changed in such a short time and that the baggage from his first four years of life would be a weight he carried throughout his life, no matter how much of the burden I tried to take from him.

Carrick has been in Seattle since Saturday. He went ahead to get settled and start at his new firm. The boys and I fly out tomorrow. Mrs. Andrews is coming with me and is staying for two weeks. I wish that she would come permanently, but I can't be selfish. Her children are on the east coast and her life is here in Detroit. She is nearing retirement and keeping an eye on my two handfuls is wearing her out! Still, it's hard to accept that she will not be a constant in our lives in a few weeks.

Fortunately, our move has coincided with mid year break for school and Elliot will start in his new kindergarten class after their break ends. I was leery at first about moving him midway through the year, but after talking with Carrick and his teacher, I feel better. His class is only half day; same as it is here, and although he will be in new surroundings, it makes sense to have him start fresh and meeting classmates now during a partial day kindergarten, then to start full days next year in a new school. The adjustment to full day classes and making new friends seemed daunting, even for Elliot. So a move in February it is. At least he has a week in our new home before he starts up again. The house is pretty much empty of anything personal. We are keeping the property; Carrick said that it's a sound investment, and renting it to a doctor at DCM. Most of our furniture therefore is staying. The boy's bedrooms and Carrick's office are the only rooms that we moved completely, so for the past few nights the boys have been sleeping in a tent on my bedroom floor. Elliot thinks it's the greatest thing, indoor camping. We even did fireplace s'mores last night after dinner!

I am just about ready for the 'big day'. Our bags are packed and waiting by the door, I called to order a cab to the airport and I did the final walk through with the leasing agent. There is only one more thing that I have to do; I have to say my final goodbye.

Mrs. Andrews is watching the boys for the afternoon and has let me borrow her car. I don't know how long this will take, and she seems to understand. She knows where I am going and tells me to take all the time I need as I put on my heavy coat and tuck a package into my pocket.

The drive doesn't take long, even though it is snowing steadily. I know exactly where I am headed as this the fifth time I've made the trip. The first time I was with Carrick, but the rest I have come alone. I slow down as come to the spot. It's so quiet, the falling snow making it seem peaceful. I already feel my tears welling up as I get out of the car, thankful that I am the only person in this area. Even my footsteps seem loud crunching against the snow as my make way over to her.

Her headstone has been placed, simple gray granite, just like I had requested.

**Ella Elizabeth Daniels**

**Feb. 12, 1964- Sept 15, 1987**

**Daughter Mother Angel**

I place the single white rose on the ground and begin to speak.

"_Ella, we are moving tomorrow. We are taking our son, your son, with us. I am sorry that he was never here, but I can't bring him. Maybe someday when he is older. He is so broken Ella, and I know that you know that. Whether you broke him or not, I will fix him. I promise you that. He will never feel pain or fear or hunger ever again. I will protect him, just like you should have done._" My voice cracks as my tears break free and run down my cheeks.

"_He is a precious boy, Ella. He is so smart and caring and he deserves to be happy, not haunted by memories of you and how you failed him. He loved you Ella, he still does. He loves his mommy and he misses you."_ I am sobbing.

"_I am so mad at you for failing him Ella, but if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have Christian in my life. You took the easy way out, Ella. Whether you did it on purpose or not only you know, but because of your cowardice I have the honor of calling Christian my son. I will not give up on him like you did Ella, I promise you. I will always be there for him, always._

_Please let him go Ella, let him be happy. Let him have the life he deserves. Watch over him and help me protect him. Please Ella and I promise you that when he asks me I will tell how you loved him. I know you did Ella; you gave him up because you loved him and I will make sure he always knows that. I won't let him forget you Ella. I promise."_

I sit for an eternity crying at the foot of her grave; this woman whom I never met, whose life was so different from mine; this woman whom I love and hate at the same time. I loved her for Christian, for giving him life, and for giving him to me. I hated her for not being the mother she should have been and for causing him such pain. I cry for my little boy and his pain, and when my tears are finally all gone, I know that I have said my piece. I pull a small velvet bag out of my coat pocket and kneel down at the base of her gravestone. There is a little drawer at the base right near where the flower urn is.

"_This is for you Ella, so you never forget your baby,"_ I tell her as I place the bag containing his lock of hair and a piece of his blue blanket in the drawer.

"_He will always be with you, no matter where his life takes him now." _

I stand up and touch her grave one last time.

"_Goodbye Ella, and thank you….for Christian,"_ I say as I walk away, not looking back.

As I head to go back home, I stop at the cemetery office. The caretaker confirms my wishes:

"_Yes, Dr. Trevelyan, every year on February 12__th__, June 18__th__, September 15__th__, and Mothers Day two dozen pink roses, from Christian"_ he reads from the contract.

"_And on January 8__th __one dozen white roses and one dozen pale pink peonies, from Grace."_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Heaven

a/n: Thanks for your patience...this took a lot longer than I had anticipated. Special thanks to Doc-Sama for the Detroit touches...they make this more real and I appreciate it. I hope you all enjoy...please let me know!

I do not own Fifty Shades or the characters.

Today is the day and my anxiety is through the roof. I have been awake, over thinking the decision to fly to Seattle, since 5AM. I have put so much preparation into this seemingly simple flight; one would think that we are flying on the space shuttle, not Northwest. I am sure that I am being a bit neurotic, but there are so many variables and I need to make sure that Christian doesn't feel threatened in any way on our journey.

Carrick and I weighed our options for the trip west heavily. It would take approximately five days with stopovers to travel by car in perfect weather. But, it is February and snow storms along the great lakes are brutal at this time of the year and I certainly don't want the added stress of driving in inclement weather. Heaven forbid we were caught in a blizzard! A train ride would take three days and I cannot imagine being stuck on a train for 36 hours. There is no way that I would subject the boys to that, or Mrs. Andrews for that matter. Besides, the cost of taking the train is not much less than flying. The only sensible option left was to fly. A direct flight from Detroit to Seattle is just under five hours and we have managed fine with Elliot making the trip in the past. He actually enjoys flying, as long as he has a window seat and plenty of snacks! We have never had issues flying on Northwest and usually the flights are uneventful. The only concern at this time of the year would be the weather, and as much as I wish I did, I have no control over Mother Nature.

I have checked, double checked, and triple checked the weather report all week and there doesn't seem to be any impending blizzards. Weather wise, the radar looks like it could be August, except the weathermen keep saying it's too cold to even snow, whatever that means. I've called the airline and flights are all on time into and out of Detroit so things look good. The taxi has been confirmed and our bags are all by the door ready to go; only four more hours until we walk out of the front door for the last time in Detroit.

I have planned, or as Carrick so lovingly puts it, over planned even the smallest detail of today's trip. I guess that's because to me today is symbolic. I want to give Christian and Elliot the lives that every child should have, full of hope and promise and happy memories and I don't believe that I can give them that here. Detroit is the place of Christian's nightmares; most of his memories of this place are full of horror and fear. Part of me believes that physically removing him from this city will help to erase those awful memories. I am sure that with the right treatment, in time we could create new memories here, but there is that lingering fear deep down that something would trigger a memory and send my precious boy backsliding. In Seattle every experience will be new to him, and it will be a memory created with us, his family.

One of the new age state therapists we were forced to see before the adoption called our move a 'rebirthing' type of therapy. She likened the new experiences in a new place to a baby experiencing something for the first time. Christian may have done some things here in Detroit, but in Seattle the situations will be totally new and different and hopefully the new memories will replace the old ones. It is a little too farfetched and 'out there' for the physician in me, but in a way the mother part of me has gravitated to the thought. Maybe its because I have never had thosw first steps, first tooth, first words experiences with Elliot; we had adopted him as a four year old as well so the baby firsts were sadly not mine to share and enjoy. Yes, I got the first day of school, first T-ball game and first time riding a bike and I cherish those firsts, but I want more. So maybe part of me is putting a lot of hope into this "rebirth" theory, for myself as much as for Christian.

So I admit it, I have planned every detail of Christian leaving Detroit behind for symbolic reference as much as for the more practical reasons. I have purchased six first class tickets for a direct flight from Detroit to Seattle. We fly out at 12:18PM Detroit time and land at 2:02PM in Seattle. The midday flight is the least crowded, especially in first class, as it doesn't cater to business travelers as much as a morning or evening flight would. It seems silly, I know, but since this is Christian's first time on a plane I think that it's best that the flight isn't overbooked, just in case he panics. I booked us in first class simply for the space. This was Carrick's suggestion actually, and given Christian's fears of being touched it makes sense. He wants our son to be as comfortable as possible and part of that means paying for extra seats to give him the personal space he needs to feel safe. Six tickets for four people is a bit crazy, but this way it guarantees that no one will be seated next to Christian and he will have the option of sitting where he is most comfortable. Its overkill I know, but given his history, spending the extra money on seats to remain vacant is far better in my mind than the alternative.

Our seats are in the front of the cabin, so that we don't have to walk through the other passengers to get to our seats. I would probably lose my mind if some sweet grandmotherly type touched him and sparked a tantrum unknowingly. Being seated in the front works perfectly for me, and I have made arrangements with the airline to board last, just so we don't have to sit while the other passengers get on board. Last on, first off. My sweet boy won't have to endure all of the turmoil of jostling overhead bags and adjusting seats. He will of course sit in the front row, with me and Mrs. Andrews behind him. Elliot can either sit with Christian or across the aisle, but there is no way that I can have some stranger sitting behind Christian and inadvertently kicking his seat or bumping him. My poor boy does not need that at all. He won't feel claustrophobic without seats in front of him and I will be right there behind him if panic sets in. I am hopeful that being close to the pilot and flight attendants will also prove to being calming to Christian, but I guess we will have to see about that.

Its 10AM and the cab is out front with our bags in the trunk. The boys have said goodbye to their rooms and have made sure that they are not forgetting any prized toys. Elliot has his book bag packed with Legos, crayons, books, GI Joe figurines and anything else he could fit in there. I went and got Christian a backpack just like his brother, although his is not as full. Christian only really plays with his cars and the rubber ducks from his bathtub. I made sure to put his blanket in the bag as well. I was hesitant to give it to him at first, but I hope that I made the right choice. He does not need reminders of his previous existence surrounding him, but he seems to find comfort in his red car, and I hope that the blanket will give him solace as well. Those two things are the only ties he has to his birth mother, other than this city, and I think he needs that connection. I have held off on giving the blanket to him until now and I hope that I am not making the wrong decision. I have also put a new notebook and crayons in his bag, so that he and Elliot can 'talk' to each other during the flight, and a package of Matchbox airplanes. One of them is just like the plane we are flying in today and I have let him open it already.

We load into the cab and head to the airport with almost two hours until we takeoff. I don't want to be rushed with the boys, and although security isn't going to be too bad, if Christian starts to panic I want to have plenty of time to get us into the departure terminal and to our gate. Elliot is a chatterbox on the drive; he keeps telling Christian about the snacks they get to have on the plane, and about how they get to chew gum during takeoff. Christian looks confused, but he just nods and smiles at his big brother.

We have come to the airport a few times in the past week to watch the planes take off and land, just so that Christian had some point of reference for what he would be doing today. I can't even begin to imagine what he is thinking. Nearly four months ago he was scared to ride in a car, and now he is getting ready to board a 737 for the trip of his life. I hope that his little mind knows that this is all for him, to give him a happy life with family that adores him. The cab pulls up slowly to the ticketing entrance and for a brief moment I doubt my choice, a busy airport with Christian…anything could go wrong.

"_Well, here we go"_, I say as I paint a large, and obviously fake, on my face.

I pay the cab fare and direct the skycap to the Northwest ticket counter. Our tickets are ready for us, confirmed for a non-smoking flight to Seattle. I still can't believe that they let people smoke on planes, but at least some airlines offer totally non-smoking flights. Had Northwest not been one of those airlines, I don't know what I would do. There is no way that I could put Christian in a situation where cigarettes were around. The one time we were at the store and a woman rounded the corner with a cigarette in her lips Christian froze and then started shaking and crying. He was inconsolable for hours, and I felt like a complete failure for not realizing what had caused his breakdown right away. I now avoid taking my boys anywhere that could subject Christian to that torment.

We get our tickets and are ushered over to what looks like a golf cart.

"_Dr. Trevelyan, we only need for you and Mrs. Andrews to walk through the security today,"_ I am told by our personal escort.

Apparently my frequent calls to the airline ticket counter regarding my concerns have paid off. We are able to rush through the metal detector and are driven through Davey Terminal to concourse G. The boys think it's the greatest thing ever and are in awe of the openness of the terminal and the glass roof panels. Elliot is rambling on to Christian about how they can build the airport out of Legos on the plane. Christian just stares at everything around him in wonder. I make a mental note to personally thank the ticket agent who set this up for us as my stress starts to melt away. We are let off of the cart at the first class passenger lounge and shown to the non-smoking area overlooking the tarmac and runways beyond. Coffee is a necessity right now, and I smile as the waitress asks if the boys can have a Vernors. Its not quite 11:30 in the morning, but how can I say no? Vernors ginger ale ice cream floats are a tradition here and since this is Christian's first flight ever, and our last flight out of Detroit, I say yes. Supposedly, the concoction helps settle nervous stomachs better than motion medicine, but the boys couldn't care about that as much as the fact that they are getting ice cream for lunch.

We sit and enjoy our treats in relative silence until I hear my name being called by an airline agent.

"_Dr. Trevelyan, your flight is boarded and we are ready for your party."_

"_Here we go boys, say goodbye to Detroit,"_ I say as we taxi to the runway.

Both boys start to wave out the window as they chomp on wads of bubble gum courtesy of the flight attendant in front of them. Both Elliot and Christian sit in front of me, Christian nervously fiddling with his toy plane and Elliot talking to him calmly.

Takeoff is seamless and soon enough the seatbelt sign goes off and the pilot announces that we are at cruising altitude. Elliot tells Christian to look out the window because we are as high as the clouds. Christian looks scared, but his brother knows just how to calm him.

"_Don't be scared. We are in the clouds just below heaven. Nothing bad can happen up here, we are close to the angels and they will keep us safe,"_ he tells his brother as he hands him his red car and his new plane.

"_My first mom and dad are angels and they are up here keeping me safe, and you too. Just like mommy keeps us safe, our other moms keep us safe because they are angels watching us all the time. Your other mommy is up here too."_

A tear streams down my cheek as I listen to Elliot. He and Christian have obviously 'talked' about this before, about his birth mother. Elliot has helped Christian understand where she is when I couldn't figure out how to tell him. I reach over the seat and into Christian's backpack.

"_Christian honey, your first mommy gave this back to you. She wants you to have it so that you remember her and remember how much she loved you,"_ I whisper as I hand him his blanket.

"_No matter where you are, she is always with you baby and she wants you to always be safe."_

He looks at me with sad eyes and takes the blanket, holding it tight. He wipes his tears with it and then puts it in the window as if to tell her he knows she is up here watching him.


	13. Chapter 13

**a/n: nature vs. nurture? It seems that Christian is very much like his adoptive father when it comes to giving the woman he loves the world. Just a little bit more of Carrick and Grace's back story too and how they came to live in Bellevue. Thank you again for the amazing reviews….everyone is so nice and the reviews are so generous….they certainly keep me motivated! I hope you enjoy!**

**I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the characters.**

**Chapter 13: Bellevue**

_"Daddy, Daddy, we flew the plane,"_ Elliot squeals as he launches himself into Carrick's outstretched arms.

"_The pilot let us each fly! I was a co-pilot and so was Christian. Look! He gave us wings! He said we earned them for being good pilots,"_ he says as he shoves the plastic pin in his father's face.

"_Wow! Buddy, that's pretty special. Congratulations Captain Grey,"_ he smiles as he hugs Elliot tightly and spins him around.

Christian is standing alongside watching Carrick interact with Elliot and it looks like he wants to play along too. Carrick sees him and stops, bending down to meet Christian's eyes.

"_Hey my big boy, did you fly the plane too?"_ he asks with renewed excitement.

Christian nods his head yes and smiles a genuine four year old excited smile and melts Carrick's heart.

"_I am so proud of you Christian. Only really smart, good boys like you can fly a big plane at age four," _Carrick tells him as he reaches up and pats Christian's head lightly. It is the closest Carrick has gotten to physical interaction with Christian and the fact that Christian doesn't flinch or back away makes Carrick beam with pride.

Both my boys are brimming with excitement about seeing the cockpit and 'flying' the plane and Carrick listens with genuine interest as Elliot recounts our VIP treatment before and during our flight. Christian is standing beside his brother nodding his head in fervent agreement with Elliot's story. It is a sight to see, my husband and sons deep in discussion.

We have landed safely in Seattle, and I must say that after all of my obsessive planning, our flight was thankfully anticlimactic. Elliot built all sorts of Lego creations, many of them having to do with airports and airplanes, and slept for about an hour. Christian spent most of the flight staring out his window at the passing clouds and holding his blanket. He kissed his blanket and favorite red car gently and showed his new cars and ducks his blanket. He seemed happy to have it back, a long lost comfort from his early years. I wonder if he had missed that scraggly blanket, that lone connection to his birth mother. Was I wrong in holding onto it for the past few months, was I being selfish? The thought made me shudder. Had I been withholding a needed comfort, a connection that he longed for, in hopes that he would forget his past and in essence his birth mother? I would never intentionally do something like that, would I?

Elliot tugging at my leg snaps me out of my guilt ridden daze.

"_Mom…MOM! Dad says that our new house has a boat in the house…is he kidding?"_

"_It has a boat house Elliot, not a boat __**in**__ the house,"_ Carrick corrects him as he looks briefly at me and then quickly looks away.

He has done something, I know it. I know that look all too well. It's the look he gets when he has done something extravagant that he knows I will disapprove of….at first…and love him for at the same time.

"_Carrick Philippe Grey,"_ I say in my stern mom voice, _"how would we have a boat house at our new home? The house that we agreed on isn't near the water, am I right?"_ I give him a look of disdain, mixed with curiosity.

"_What have you done?"_ I whisper.

"_Hey my big boys,"_ he quickly diverts attention to the back seat and enlists Elliot and Christian.

"_How much fun will it be to have a house right by the water where we could fish and go boating whenever we wanted?"_

Of course Elliot is beyond excited at the mere thought and Christian is excited just because his brother is. Both boys are bouncing up and down in the back seat and Carrick looks at me and smirks. He has the boys on his side now so I know already that I have lost any hope of a rational discussion about our sudden housing predicament.

The drive from the airport is anything but relaxing. Elliot can barely contain himself and keeps jumping around in his seat. It is taking all of Mrs. Andrews' energy to keep him buckled. Even Christian, who is usually so self contained, seems to be brimming with anticipation. Carrick hasn't told me yet where this lakeside house is, but it's not long before I figure it out.

"_**Bellevue?"**_ I gasp_. "Carrick Grey, have you lost your mind? WE cannot afford Bellevue, especially Lake Washington lakefront in Bellevue. What are you thinking?"_

Bellevue is…..expensive. It is like the Beverly Hills of Seattle, where all of the money that isn't on the Sound has taken up residence. We cannot afford Bellevue waterfront real estate, even with the significant increases to both of our salaries. Bellevue is out of our league…out of my league. Bellevue is super wealthy.

"_Please, sweetheart, just look at the house first. It is a perfect family home,"_ he pleads.

"_It reminds me of my parent's home on the Chesapeake,"_ he adds under his breath and I know immediately that this is about more than real estate.

Carrick had taken me by his family home before we were married. It was hard for him to be starting his life without his parents there to see it. His parents were older when Carrick was born and he was essentially an only child. His only sibling was already a freshman in college, so Carrick had the full attention of his mother and their bond was close. She was of French lineage and she spent her days with her young son teaching him her first language and educating him on his family's heritage. He was the apple of her eye and she adored him. She gave him his hearts desire and doted on his every whim. He had a good relationship with his father, but it was more distant. His father was older, and he was a busy man, a diplomat with a demanding schedule, so Carrick rarely had his time or attention. He was more of a possession than a son. I guess that is why it's so important to my husband to nurture the father/son relationships he has with our boys.

His mother more than made up for his father's parental shortcomings by spoiling Carrick with everything a child could want and on his end, Carrick was a devoted and loving son, never wanting to disappoint his adoring 'belle mere'. She had turned his childhood home into a place of wonder, and he would often talk of "Chateau Grey' like it was a place where every childhood fantasy came to life.

His mother fell ill and passed away during Carrick's freshman year at Harvard. He doesn't like to talk about that time, and I don't pry as I know it was a dark time for him, the end of his innocence. His father couldn't bear to stay in the large waterfront home and sold the estate, choosing to stay permanently at his apartment on Pennsylvania Avenue. Carrick was devastated that his father could dispose of his childhood sanctuary and it strained their relationship until right before his death.

I had only met Mr. Grey a handful of times and it was always awkward to be around him. I could tell that he had regrets about not being a more involved father, but he never spoke about his shortcomings to his son. About two months before our wedding, Mr. Grey came down with pneumonia and passed away. Carrick and his brother were with him and I know that amends were made and mistakes forgiven. When I flew down to be with my fiancé for the funeral he took me for a drive to see his old home. It was a gorgeous, stately Georgian colonial sitting on the Chesapeake. We got permission from the current owners to walk down to the docks and we sat in silence just watching the water. Carrick told me that he would never allow himself to become like his father, distant and shut off from our future children. He promised that he would give me and our family the life that his mother gave him, including our own "Chateau".

I think that Carrick is nervous about how I will react to seeing this house. We must be getting close because he keeps looking over at me trying to assess my reactions as we pass by larger and larger lakefront homes. We are on a dead end street and almost nearing the end. None of these houses seem to fit what I remember seeing back east and I am wondering if he is just playing a game with us. As we reach the end of the road and what appears to be a long tree lined drive Carrick stops the car.

"_If you don't like it we can go back to the original home Grace, but I really think that this is perfect for us. It has room for a growing family and we wouldn't have to worry about outgrowing it. The schools are all top notch and it's only a short drive to your office,"_ he says, as if he is a realtor showing a prospective client.

"_I am sure it's very nice Cary, but I'm sure that it is also very expensive,"_ I reply, trying hard to be rational.

The truth is though, I would love to live on the water, and Bellevue is one of those places that I had always dreamed of living in growing up. But, I don't want to get ahead of myself and sacrifice. Maybe in time we could aspire to live here.

Carrick pulls down the drive and I am…I am…speechless. Before me is the most beautiful home, a three story white clapboard Georgian colonial with black shuttered windows and a covered front entryway. There are three, no four chimneys and a covered side porch. It is his childhood home I am looking at, like the home has been picked up and moved to the west coast, it is a replica of the house on the Chesapeake.

"_Oh Carrick…..it's beautiful,"_ is all I can manage to say as I catch my breath.

He pulls around to the side four bay garage and parks.

"_Let's go take a look at our new home, go and pick out your bedrooms"_ he says with such love and pride as the boys bound out of the car to explore.

"_Grace, I want you and our boys to have the best and when I happened upon this place, it seemed like it was meant to be. But if you really don't like it, we can go back to the original. Please just look and keep an open mind."_

The home is picture perfect. I can't see much of the landscaping because of the snow, but I can just envision well maintained gardens and a perfectly manicured lawn. We walk in the front door and I am floored. This home is huge! It has a two story entry way with a grand curving staircase and a stunning chandelier. The foyer is as large as our living room back in Detroit and that was a fairly good size. The house has not one, but two formal living rooms, a large formal dining area with a butler's pantry connecting it to a large eat in gourmet kitchen with hearth room. There is also a study, a family room, a sun room, 2 full bathrooms, den or music room and the covered side porch. The kitchen and family room open onto a flagstone patio with a view of a large backyard and view of Lake Washington.

"_Beyond the yard is the boathouse and dock,"_ Carrick tells me as I stand in awe of the view before me.

The second story has a large master suite with a private bath and five other bedrooms, each with their own bathrooms. There is another staircase to the third floor which at one point must have been staff quarters as there are two more bedrooms and a bath there as well as what could be considered living area and apartment kitchenette.

After walking through the entire home, taking it all in, Carrick finally asks the million dollar question.

"_Grace, what do you think? Do you like it?"_ he asks nervously.

"_Like it? Carrick, I love it. It is beautiful, elegant, and stately and yet comfortable and family friendly, but…it's huge,"_ I reply, still in shock by the sheer size of the place.

"_We would need to have a housekeeper, it's almost 6000 square feet with the three floors,"_ he mumbles nonchalantly, like hiring domestic help is something that every young couple in their early thirties does. I nearly choke at the thought.

"_And a landscaper too; I have no idea how to maintain the gardens and three acres is a lot to maintain."_

This time I do choke. My husband has truly lost his mind! I am just about to tell him that this is over the top and way above our means when the boys come bounding into the kitchen.

"_Mom, we picked our rooms and we both want to have them on the top floor,"_ Elliot says almost out of breath. Christian is nodding his agreement.

"_It's like our own house up there, a boys' clubhouse, right Christian?"_ They both look so excited and happy at the thought and I see Carrick snicker to himself.

"_I kind of guessed that they would pick the attic space."_ He mutters.

"_Carrick, I love this place, I do, but how can we honestly afford it? It must be a small fortune, and then the upkeep…I just don't…"_

"_Grace, do you like the house?"_ he asks, and I nod my head yes.

"_The house is paid for Grace. Consider it a wedding gift from my parents. My mother would have loved it here, I know she would,"_ he says with tears in his eyes and for that reason alone, I know that this is where he, where WE need to be.

"_Well then," _I smile up at my amazing husband,_ "Welcome Home Mr. Grey."_


	14. Chapter 14

**a/n: I know that I haven't been the greatest at replying to all of my reviews, but I want to say thank you for each and every one. They keep me motivated and excited to continue this story. And to GroovyExcel…here is part one of your wish.**

**I do not own Fifty Shades or any of the Characters.**

**Chapter 14: The Best Therapy**

There are nine manila folders. Nine of them, all different doctors, all different types of therapies, but all have the same end result. Maybe these specialists are right and I am the one who is wrong. Maybe I am deluding myself by thinking that I can make my son better, make him whole. Some of these therapists never had a chance in even treating Christian because I didn't like something that they said or did during the first appointment. I had turned into 'that' parent, the parent who thought she knew more than the experts. Yes, I am a medical doctor, and when it comes to my boys' physical well being, I am the expert. But what do I know about all of the emotional issues that Christian has? The list is endless: Haphepobia; Dream Anxiety Disorder; Selective Mutism; Capnophobia; Emotional Detachment Disorder to name a few of them. At least I should be content in knowing that none of the specialists out here have just assumed that Christian is developmentally unable to progress, like some of the so called therapists in Detroit. My son is brilliant and at least now I can dispel any thoughts to the contrary with a piece of paper.

We just got the results back from a cognitive intelligence test that one of my colleagues had suggested we have done, specifically to dispel any thoughts that Christian's issues may not all be a result of his early abuse. Frankly, I was surprised that Carrick and I hadn't done this sooner, but we know what a smart and inquisitive boy he is. He has proven that to us time and again, he just hasn't given anyone else a glimpse into how smart he really is. We have shown all of his pictures and writing to his various therapists, but none of them were able to get him to recreate what was on the paper firsthand. We needed to have the testing results to show everyone just how smart of a child he really is. I knew the results would be favorable, but just how high my child's IQ is surprised me. He ranks near the 95th percentile for children his age! My son, my scared little boy is brilliant! This piece of paper more than confirms it. Christian's issues are not all developmental, they are psychological. Now we just need to find some way to bring him out of his mental prison and that's what brings me to these nine folders.

Really, in all fairness, I should really only count five of them. Four of the nine therapists never made it past the initial appointment. The first one, Dr. Chilson, was a man and just the sight of him had Christian cowering and crying in the corner so we never made it past the waiting room. After that mistake, I made sure that any psychologist, psychiatrist, therapist, whatever …was a woman. More specifically, the specialist needed to be a woman who understood boundaries and adhered to them. Dr. Linsmore, another of the four, seemed to think that she could 'hug' and hold my son to make him better. I was very specific in my initial interview with her that by no means should she touch my son unless the contact was initiated by him. I explained his fears and his background and she said that she understood. I thought I was very specific, but not more than five minutes into her first appointment with him, she went over and hugged Christian tightly, bringing on a panic attack that I was sure would end with us having to sedate him and restrain me. Dr. Linsmore was fired on the spot. Therapist number three only did group sessions, similar to a kindergarten classroom and after watching her reprimand my son for not participating in his therapy on the first day, I stormed into the closed session and rescued my frightened and confused little boy. The last one was just not 'right'. I couldn't put my finger on what exactly the problem was with her but I didn't like her and refused to allow her to see Christian. She made my skin crawl and I didn't like that her office was in the basement of her home, inaccessible from the rest of the house and rather creepy. I later found out that she was arrested for endangering the welfare of a child in her care and her license to practice in Washington State was revoked. Thank heavens I listened to my 'mother's intuition' because several other former patients have been identified as being abused by that monster.

The remaining five tried their best to help Christian, but none of them seemed to have any luck. The therapies were all different and ranged from traditional cognitive and psychotherapy, which failed miserably considering Christian wouldn't actively communicate; to art and play therapy which were more relaxed and gave Christian an outlet whether through role play with dolls or with drawing. In fact, we have gained more insight into his tortured past from those sessions. Christian had let us know more about the abuse he either witnessed or suffered at the hands of his mothers pimp. It was painful to watch him re-enact the beatings that he and Ella endured and the implements that his abuser chose to inflict pain. I know that he needed to share those memories with someone, but it killed me to see the pain in his eyes and the terror on his face. The nightmares after those sessions were the worst he had ever endured, and he would revert back into himself for days after each session. It didn't seem fair for him to have three or four terrible nights reliving his memories every week after each session, so after a month I Carrick and I ended the sessions. Dr. Casmir was less than understanding. I think she wanted to use Christian as a case study and was more concerned with being published than with helping my son. We tried to continue with the same type of therapy, just using a different doctor but we never had any more success. I think Christian was too afraid to relive those painful memories any longer and refused to participate.

We even tried family counseling for a while, which was difficult to arrange with Carrick's schedule. Junior partners put in long hours and he could never seem to find time to fit in appointments. I went a few times with just the boys, but Elliot thought of it as more of a playtime and Christian would just follow his lead. The few times that Carrick was able to join us, the therapist wanted to focus on our relationship and how Christian was affecting us. She kept inferring that our marriage would suffer because of his issues and my need to do whatever it took to help him. No amount of reassurances from me or Carrick would change her opinion and, and the sessions would usually lead to me crying and Carrick leaving the room in a huff. Sure enough, problems began to surface where there were none prior and instead of the counseling helping Christian it was causing a rift in our marriage and family life. Carrick actually put an end to that therapy when after a few months the doctor told him that she thought he needed to place Christian in an inpatient program if he wanted to keep his family together. I have never seen Carrick so angry with anyone. I guess it's a good thing that he was raised to be a gentleman or I can only imagine how badly that last appointment would have turned out.

So here I am, sitting in the hearth room with nine folders and contemplating my next move. Do we try yet another form of therapy or do we just give up and resign ourselves to the fact that Christian may never get better? I know that my brave boy is in there and that he has so much to offer us, just as we have the world and all of our love to give to him. There has to be something that will work, something that we haven't tried yet. Frustrated, I get up and go into the music room. Playing the piano always seems to calm me down and help me focus. The boys are upstairs playing in their 'fort'. It seems that Elliot has been the only one to really get through to him and bring out the playful side of him. I guess it's because he is also a child and Christian really has no reason or reference to distrust him. Elliot has always been at his level, he is the same in Christian's eyes. I let Ms. Holling know where I will be as I leave the kitchen to find a few minutes of escape in the music of Bach.

I don't think I have been playing for very long when I feel someone beside me. Christian is standing next to me, his eyes transfixed on the piano keys. He is swaying slightly to the music and he has a look like he wants to ask if he can try to play.

"Do you want to sit with me Christian?" I ask him quietly. He nods and climbs up onto the bench next to me.

"When you touch one of the keys on the piano it makes a sound like this," I demonstrate.

"And when you press a bunch of keys it makes a song," as I start to play 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star 'for him.

He smiles when he recognizes the tune.

"Do you want to try?"

He nods his head in a vigorous yes, and since he doesn't have his notebook and pencil to write his reply I accept his nod. I play a few notes for him and then he repeats my actions perfectly. I am in shock! I repeat the process again, this time adding more notes, and again he repeats it. This goes on for about fifteen minutes until we are playing the entire nursery rhyme, me first and Christian repeating me. He is smiling and laughing and I am beaming with pride. Carrick comes strolling in as we are playing it through again and he doesn't know what to say.

"Christian, can you play 'Twinkle, Twinkle' for daddy?" I ask as I go to get up from the bench.

He grabs my arm and looks to the seat, asking me to stay. I sit motionless as he plays the nursery rhyme from beginning to end purely from memory while watching mine and Carrick's reaction. I am beyond proud and it takes all of my effort to not reach out and hug him. He must sense that, because he looks at me and slightly, very slightly, leans into me and looks up and smiles. That tiny movement is huge. My son, my Christian, just hugged me!

Music. That's what he needs. My son just gave me his first hug and it was because of music. Forget the nine folders, I just found our therapy.


End file.
